


Blunt's the Word of the Scientist

by gravityuniverse256



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: "services", Abelism, Addiction, Anxiety, As such, BDSM, Blood, Deaf Character, Depression, Dipper's real name, Discrimination, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Gambling, Guns, Homicide, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knives, LOTS of violence, M/M, Mafia AU, Mania, Mental Illness, Multi, Multi shipping, Murder, Schizophrenia, Sex, Smoking, allusions to world war II, bill and will are in the mafia and run a casino, bill meets dipper in the casino and he needs a job and then some other things happen, bills like this hotshot leader that kind of took after his father, but reverse falls doesnt exist, cipher twins au, dont read if anything is triggering, forced relationships - Freeform, gay discrimination, i'll explain the story a little bit, it's like the 40s of course there will be, lots of stuff is triggering in this, probably, stereotyping, the twins hate their father, will is Deaf because of occurrences as a child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-05-16 23:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravityuniverse256/pseuds/gravityuniverse256
Summary: The marvelous Cipher Twins are the talk of the town, their Casino of Confusion being no exception to the gossip. Bill is the hot shot, cocky, blonde Italian that hated his father just as much as the next guy who manages to pull his clients in as a master wrangler would pull in his fish. His twin brother, Will, appears to be the softer, quieter side of his quite rambunctious twin, the two seen as a type of dramatic duo around town. However, secrets eat at a man after too long, and one grows desperate for an outlet. It seems that for Bill, this outlet was the poor college student who drunkenly wandered into his casino and was soon to become his most valuable worker yet. However, good things often come with worse consequences.





	1. The Estranged Scientist

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all this is my AU project for this summer. I've found some good resources for mafia life and such so I hope I can write a fairly accurate yet fun fic. Please read the additional tags and warnings and stuff before proceeding, often my works can be a bit uncomfortable and triggering. If there's a particular trigger in a chapter, I'll point it out, but assume that the aforementioned ones will apply to most of the chapters. This is more just self-indulgent and for fun more than anything, and a little bit of practice in trying to capture aesthetics. I hope you enjoy! Every chapter or so I'm going to switch POVs between characters, so look out for that. -Will

Will’s POV:  
Business in the casino was supposedly at a higher volume than usual, according to my brother. He had been drinking since before the afternoon, though, so I don’t know how much merit such a statement has. The man’s eyes spin faster than his body.

I play job pickup at the casino, usually, or work as an assistant of sorts to my brother. To be truthful, I can’t stand being around guests. The stink of cigarette smoke and cheap brandy reminds me too much of my father, but I suppose my brother ingests this sensory stimulation as something to be revered and sought after.

Seeing people makes my stomach swirl.

I tried to tell my mother about this fact when I was young. I saw figures that the others didn’t see, faces in the gates, shadows in the books, demons in the chalkboard. And the voices, god, the voices, a person would talk to me and it would distort into something of nightmares. She didn’t believe me. She didn’t want to believe me, or otherwise, I’d be sent to the madhouse.

I don’t remember much anymore what voices sound like. It’s been lost to dull yet observable vibrations and movements I’ve been forced to understand.

Being Deaf isn’t all that bad, I suppose. I’ve had some truly insane conversations with my brother as he attempted to learn ASL when we were kids, typically resulting in manic laughter at misconceptions or petty arguments. He’s much better at signing now. Bill can be pretty cold hearted, even apathetic at times, but I know he cares about me. That’s comforting to some degree.

It’s a brotherly love you can’t replace.

I was leaning against the bar when I saw this strangely disheveled stranger stammer into the building. Not finding it necessary to overreact, I kept a close eye on the man, studying his mannerisms. He seemed to be awkwardly waltzing towards the bar before making a turn towards my brother’s office.

My heart jumped into my throat, the pit in my stomach telling me to move, my brain trying to justify otherwise. Casually, I left my station, attempting to swallow the taste of impending doom that was pooling in my mouth.

By the time I arrived, I saw the young brunet seated at one of our worst paying slots, keeping a silent, watchful eye, as per the usual.

My brother coughed a few times as he closed his office door. He seemed to be coming outside.

One of the security guards bumped the shoulder of my seemingly stationary body as he passed, making me gasp and shrink away. No apology, but this was typical. They usually forgot I was Deaf or purposely taunted me for it.

The slot machine shook as it illuminated, the overused appliance shuddering as it spit out hundreds of coins at once, visibly disturbing the neighboring customers. They looked ravenous but noted the security guard’s presence and went back to slaving over their own machines. They ostensibly noted mine as well, but my lanky, blue-haired company was not nearly as intimidating as that of one of an authority figure’s.

Well, not to someone who didn’t know me. The most regular customers have seen is my manic ticks and ability to be everywhere at once, somehow.

I’ll leave it at the fact that twins are equally as dangerous as each other.

In an effort to hide my surprise, I instead looked to my brother, who emerged from his office soon before. He gave a crooked grin, making a point not to proceed towards the customer.

I read his lips from afar as he mumbled to himself. “The crazies always have the wildest luck.”

In a way, he was right. My attention to Bill was torn away as I caught the view of fire in my periphery, and not just the luminescence from the overactive slot. The disheveled man stood up haphazardly, his eyes darting around for a liquid of some kind. He grabbed what appeared to be a glass of water, tasted it to confirm it as such, and poured it over the ravaging flames, promptly becoming more panicked.

It was an electrical fire; you don’t pour water over it. I grabbed some baking soda from the kitchen and returned, smothering the flames in the powder until I was sure it completely subsided. Disparagingly, I looked down upon the drunken customer.

“I coulda done that myself.” His voice was a bit gruff, any intelligence clearly hindered by the influence of booze.

I hated talking since the incident. Apparently, my voice had gotten so out of tune that even other Deaf people mocked me for it. I simply blinked at him with a continued grimace.

The tousled brunet sighed, pushing up his glasses, and eventually gathering his coins and leaving as if not a thing had happened. Surely a strange one, Bill was right. I began clearing up the mess before I jumped at my brother’s cool, calm hand on my shoulder.

He signed to me kindly. “You service is not necessary here.”

I nodded and smiled back to him, seeing that one of the cleaning crew was already present at the situation. Before I could turn away, my brother signed once more.

“Join me in my office.”

I nodded and followed obediently, leaving confused and displaced customers behind.


	2. Atoning for the Sin of Hubris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter. Graphic depictions of blood, being shot, and abuse of children. Also they fight because of Reasons. I hope you all like my writing so far :) it's giving me some peace. -Will

Bill’s POV:  
I hummed sweetly to my brother as he took the seat across from my desk, then became slightly saddened when I recalled the fact that he couldn’t hear me. Kicking my legs up on the desk, I grinned, taking the cigar out of my mouth for a moment to dispose of some of the useless ash before perching it on my lips once more.

“That kid’s a riot, huh?” I signed provokingly to my brother.

The scrawny man tried at a grimace. “Surely. Is he a regular here?”

I snorted at my brother’s inquiry, lowering my feet from the desk. “A regular? I already gave him a job application. I was all over that shit from the very beginning-…”

Will cut me off with a fiery glare. “You have done _what?_ ” He dramatized the movement of the interrogative word. “You don’t know this kid at all! He set our slot on fire, you’re…” he paused to consider how to word it as well as possible. “You’re putting him in danger.”

I laughed once more, seeing the frustration growing on my silenced brother’s face. “In _danger?_ He got himself in trouble the moment he walked in this building. Have you seen the kid? He drinks as if he’s been stuck out at sea for years on end. I’ve never seen anything like it, aside from our own father. He’d be amazing, dare I say, perfect, working in this facility.”

Will sighed, leaning back in his chair. I damped my cigar and my harshness.

“It all-…sudden” Will began, signing too fast for me to comprehend. I asked him to slow down, to which he obliged. “It all seems so sudden. Is this one of your niches again? An obsession?”

I pursed my lips and considered. “No, I have spoken to him. He’s studying engineering at MIT and getting a minor in chemistry. A wild genius, really. Too bad he’s drinking his intelligence away.”

Will cracked a slight grin. “Didn’t know how to treat an electrical fire, did he?”

I shook my head, making sure to sign clearly. “This kid is going places, I know it. Hell, just look at him, he randomly stammered into the building, took a shot at our worst paying slot, and won the goddamn jackpot. I don’t know how else to prove it to you-…”

My twin cut me off with a furious start. “Did you not learn anything from our father? What kind of trouble a second-in-command can cause? You’re going to get this boy killed-…”

I took a deep breath, itching my wrist in a subconscious desire for more nicotine. “You trust no one but me. This has already been established.”

The bursting anger in the already stuffy office simmered to stiff tension. Will stood up and simply looked down upon me apathetically, tapping the pistol concealed under his button up shirt. “You must not get your gun dirty with such trivial matters.”

He turned on his heel and left, evidently to vent his frustrations with a manic walk around the kitchen and most likely do an unnecessary amount of cleaning.

I shouted after him, “It’s your dirty fucking gun, not mine!” but he certainly did not hear me. I knew he saw me in his periphery, though, but did not decide to indulge me in a petty argument.

How quaint.

Left alone, I took a deep breath in, deciding to open the window to continue airing out the room. The chemical smell of the new carpet was particularly strong.

I hold a strong face, but don’t look down at my hands, as they’ll surely be shaking during an argument. Confidence is almost entirely mental, and not just based upon how you come off to other people. It’s your desires, not the response from others.

As I got up to open the window, I felt my abdomen collapse under me from weakness, emotions uneven from the argument, feeling bursts of anger that had a convincing argument to bubble over into something worse.

I stopped myself from smashing the window. He’d just come in and clean it up.

I sat once more, stewing in a sour mix of self-loathing and pride. God, how fucking contradictory did I have to be? So much stress is put on someone in my position, it’s absolutely unbelievable.

I recalled my father’s voice, self-loathing soon taking over as a twisted method of atoning for my sins of hubris. Soon, I was back at the day that changed our lives, although my mind had processed it to make it seem as if it wasn’t quite as detrimental. However, when the memory decides to rear its ugly head, it tears through my soul as would a spirit through the trees.

It was unusually cold.

When I awoke, the poorly lit room was swirling with dust, walls thickly coated from years’ worth of rotting cigarette residues. Swallowing my desire to choke, I turned my head to one side, then the opposite, beholding a sight that was more than appalling.

Sitting in a chair identical to mine was my once mighty brother, still asleep under the potent effects of the illicit drugs.

Fear consumed me at the sight, how was I supposed to save anyone with my hands wrung tightly behind my back? It was a puzzling taunt for my young mind...one that horrifies yet arouses me to this day.

The door creaked open, nothing more than a weak echo in the room with the low ceiling where sound evidently went to die. I heard my brother grunt weakly as he came out of his slumber, his struggle against his bounds dancing in my periphery.

Fear did not stab through my heart as freezing rain may on a cold winter night until I saw the glimmer of the rim of the pistol from the small yet mighty light of the single drawstring light bulb.

Tactile fear truly struck my young mind when muffled footsteps blew past my tangled limbs and rather moved to the now shriveled, weeping mess that was my twin brother. Another man stood in the doorway, as I observed upon quick glancing, ostensibly to serve me a similar fate.

The pistol clicked...

Safety off.

The radio buzzed upstairs.

A clean bullet was loaded.

The stock market crashed beyond repair.

The pistol clicked once more with a definitive goal.

Father was angry.

The weapon slowly rose to my brother's blue locks as the rope burned my wrists.

These people were angry with my father.

I heard myself scream, using any fuel I had under the effect of the potent drugs to struggle to him, nearly ripping my own hands off in the process.

The pistol sounded, the shock waves dying as quickly as they were sparked.

My brother screamed before impact, the last correct sound I would ever hear out of him.

A sharp breath in and a dull whimper.

His hair was stained with red, and I fell onto the hard-concrete floor, still helplessly attached to the cursed chair.

Twins must meet the same fate.

I expected some kind of decency from my father at the hospital. Perhaps a hat tip, a loving yet stern glare, some kind of understanding of his judgmental error as I visited my brother.

My periphery remained occupied by the effects of the sleeping drugs, dulling my movements more than desirably.

I broke the silence. "Who were those men?"

"Don' ask questions."

We arrived at the hospital, my wrist burns dimmed by the poor attempt of my worried mother and cheap makeup powder.

I wasn't allowed to see my brother's face. I knew he couldn't hear me, but God, I hoped that one day he would be able to again.

My father scolded me for my hubris. "You weren't the one chosen to be killed. They're gonna be up my ass now, because neither of you...you maggots are dead. Al diavolo-" to hell with that, "he won't want to see your face ever again."

Maybe my father was right that night in the hospital.

The last thing my brother must have seen before being shot was my blank, exhausted expression. The scream had been lost in a blur of inebriation and pure panic, but on this night, I seem to be able to recall his word.

"Why?"

A screech from a ten-year old, unable to find an answer in his clouded mind.

A cry from a weak child who wondered why his brother just stared.

Maybe he didn't want to see me again.


	3. Engineering Major (Failure)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry I haven't updated in a few days, I didn't feel much like writing. It seems when I write a bit earlier than 2 in the morning, my thoughts flow a bit better.  
> Here's the first chapter from Dipper's POV. Not many warnings, although some internalized stereotyping and homophobia. It seems our engineering failure gets around this, though.  
> Hi to my new readers and thanks for enjoying my work! -Will

Dipper’s POV:  
God, he was stunning.

More stunning than any man I had seen in a while, or at least since I had moved to New York. My twin sister constantly mocked me for being such a hopeless romantic, but what does she know? She married rich.

I know deep down she’s not happy, though. I don’t want that life for me. Hell, I was taught that anything from being left-handed to having eyes for the same sex was a sin. Extremist bullshit, I call it. I’m a scientist and a damn good engineer, I don’t need a wiser man’s perception of morals. Who the hell do they think I am? Progress is never made without curiosity and experimentation.

However, I digress. It’s not particularly easy fitting into a society of anyone, I suppose, unless you’re well cut. I clearly wasn’t well cut enough for my parents, so I moved on to better things. Now, I’m attending MIT and set to graduate as one of the best students in my class. That doesn’t seem like the act of a higher power to me, that seems like my own competence allowing me to glide through life.

I can’t say that.

I can’t glide through life. God, I got the hots for a man. I wouldn’t say all of my devices are of…pure experimental purposes.

I suppose it’s not the worst thing I could face. I’m not being persecuted while residing in America, and I’m attending the best college I could ask to. Sexual deviance shouldn’t be an overarching element of my success.

Well, at least, I sincerely hope that’s the case.

In any case, I visited that strange casino again yesterday. It was Friday night, and I found myself subconsciously stumbling towards it (what a move)! Perhaps Mabel was right, I had a few too many servings of whiskey.

She always shuns me for drinking so much, always says I’m wasting my valuable brain on a useless beverage. Who is she to judge? I once saw her smoke 2 packs in a day. At least I’m mostly content with my romantic life. I do feel, though, that there’s something she’s not telling me…

Anyway, I stumbled into the casino and this one slot really caught my eye. I often get told that I have insane intuition, as if I’m some kind of clairvoyant being. I always laugh, but soon after it seems they’re proven right.

In my periphery, I spotted a man of about my love’s stature, but slightly scrawnier and, upon further inspection and a glasses adjustment, I noted that his hair was blue. Strange.

In any case, I paid the figure little mind and took a seat at the slot, making my bet and waiting for the magic to come. It all felt right, and I grinned once my intuition was proven correct. In fact, I hardly noticed the distracted, almost thirsting customers around me. That’s why I like alcohol. It blurs my periphery.

It blurs my necessity to think so damn hard about everything.

I glanced up, seeing my love standing admiringly in the hallway to what I can only assume leads to his office. God, the things I would do to him-…

What am I thinking? At the time, I faltered. I don’t even remember his name yet, and I’m not positive I gave him mine. I was never any good with names anyway.

Torn out of my entrancement, I noted the machine was breaking down, and even beginning to catch on fire. I guess these things aren’t designed to pay out very often, and when they do, it has to be this dramatic event.

In a hurry, I rushed to grab a clear liquid off of somebody else’s slot, tasting it to ensure it wasn’t alcohol and promptly attempting to extinguish the flame.

Bad move in retrospect, I felt a jolt of electricity run through my hand, whining slightly. Of course, it’s an electrical fire, and I’m a fucking idiot. A drunken engineering major that can’t remember his fires.

Before I could continue to wallow in my own misery, the mystery boy from before dampened the ravaging flames with a good helping of baking soda that I can only assume they kept in the back for such a purpose. Finally realizing I had been knocked on my ass by the whole incident, I glanced up at him, misplaced anger making my blood boil.

I couldn’t show off to my future employer. Hell, even my future lover.

“I coulda done that myself.”

I knew that he knew what I said, as I saw a very specific understanding in his cold, uncomfortable eyes. He didn’t reply, almost forcing himself to be tight lipped.

In the embarrassment of the whole display, I gathered my winnings and shuffled out as quickly as my shaky legs would allow, keeping my head down as I left. Hopefully my love didn’t know it was me.

As I left, though, I noted something peculiar about the blue-haired twin of my beloved. He was missing an ear, a nasty scar ripping through his natural hairline left in its place.

Poor, strange man.

 

In my guilt, I sobered up to the best of my ability and gathered my tools, ensuring that all of my work for the weekend had been finalized. Through basic observation of traffic in and out of the casino, I had calculated that the least busy time would be around 3:15 in the morning, yet the building would still be open as there was a few suite rooms for guests, as well.

I regretted not taking the dive and purchasing a car, as two miles is quite a bit to carry a 30-pound box of supplies and planning pages. Hell, with my skill, I could probably construct a car. Nevertheless, I made the daunting walk and snuck into the building.

Naturally, I was correct about the volume of people, just a few chronic gamblers and poor insomniacs that longed to quell their pain with some dopamine. Or is it serotonin? I was no good in organic chemistry.

Glancing around with a less blurred periphery, I spotted the blue-haired man once again, wondering why he was one of the attendants that was up so late. He looked unmistakably anxious, running a hand through his hair as he sipped on his beverage and watched the bartender’s movements. He looked tense, leg shaking, as he lowered his drink and began signing to the bartender.

Oh, he’s Deaf. The earlier occurrence began to make some sense in my head. Not minding him and realizing I had been standing in the entrance for too long, I made my way over to the still ashen slot, however, most of the glass debris had been cleaned up.

I was stopped in my tracks when I felt a hand on my shoulder, my muscles immediately tensing. I swallowed hard, facing the culprit.

My love!

I nearly shouted, looking him up and down. God, he looked even more gorgeous without the inebriation of the alcohol. I was speechless, setting down my box.

“What’s a smart guy like you doing up so late at night?” His smile was glowing, unmistakable, eyes sadly consumed by dark circles, ostensibly a symptom from going with little sleep. Did these twins ever sleep?

I stammered over my words and his rich tone, although slightly gruff. “Uh…I-well, truthfully, uh. I was gonna fix your machine. I felt bad about earlier, when I’m drunk, I uh…I get my fires mixed up.”

God, I sounded like a dumbass. My smarts were the only thing I really had going for me, hell, I had these thick ass glasses, unkempt hair, persevering dark eye circles, and no idea how to dress. A typical engineering major you might imagine, but certainly less hot.

The blond must have seen my pain, sliding his hand down the length of my arm, a calloused yet smooth touch, his warm hands clearly filled with life. I imagined what his twin’s hands might feel like. Cool, consumed by other needs, perhaps.

Grasping my hand gently, he spoke. “You can do that if you please. I know it’s a late night. Oh-…” he broke his gaze with me to form his next sentence, letting go of my hand. “Do you happen to have your job application filled out? I’ll accept it right now and consider you.”

My mind stammered as my emotional needs hindered my logical thinking, finding I was only able to nod and open my box, pulling out the requested piece of paper. “Thanks…for the opportunity.”

Was he always this flirty with clients? The excessive touching seemed a little strange, but certainly not unwelcome for me. If anything, I was flustered…

The blond began to leave, thanking me quietly for the paperwork and leaving me to my work. He looked behind him just as he was about to enter the darkened hallway. “Oh, sir? You know, you’re quite the blusher.”

He chuckled, and all I heard was light footsteps down the hall, followed by a door creak.

“I’m a _what_?”

I tried to shake my daze away, moving towards the machine and displaying my plans on the floor, determined that work would distract me. I couldn’t help but feel through the whole interaction, though, that there were eyes on us.

Skillfully, I completed my work within the hour, pleased with the job I did for once. I hoped that my “employer” would find it just as creative and well-made as myself.

I gathered my belongings to leave, not looking forward to the walk home, considering my aching arm. I recalled that the subway line I needed to take began running at 4 AM, so I would easily be able to make it home.

Pleased with this development, I nearly forgot about the prying eyes on my partner and myself. I glanced over to where the blue-haired man resided, finding that he was still at the bar.

He stared right back at me.

I felt once again that I lost who I was inside.


	4. How the Mighty Oppress the Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I hope you enjoy this new chapter. If I'm gonna be honest I kind of miss writing from Will's perspective but I didn't want to cycle the chapters so evenly, so probably the next chapter will be hehe. Also today is my birthday! As quoted from my good friend, considerations for the chapter title were "it's my birthday read this bitch" and "arielle said to read this so now you have to" -Arielle  
> Anyway i hope you enjoy the chapter. It was a good start to my next year of life :) -Will

Bill’s POV:  
The next morning I forced myself to awake before the afternoon, which certainly proved to be an ordeal. I couldn’t find my brother. I assumed he had been up all night, just as I had been.

To alleviate some of my more major stresses, I cleared up my excuse of a desk for a bit and made my bed. I considered that it might not be the best idea to have my area of sleep right next to my area of work, but hell, what do I care? I’m following in my father’s footsteps anyway.

My thoughts were poisoned by cynicism, so I resolved to turn on the radio to distract myself. The host’s booming voice could barely be heard through static, but it was audible enough to be adequate.

The music was fairly dry, as usual, but this familiarity allowed for distraction. I cleared up my desk, realizing I was only able to locate one job application.

“Mason Pines…” I mumbled to myself, not expecting his name to be so…dull. He appeared almost eccentric, almost as my brother did, I expected something a bit fancier. Or, an interesting nickname.

And then my eyes drifted over to the word represented parenthetically. “(Dipper).”

Yeah, that seemed more like it.

I grinned and set the sheet on top of the radio, knowing I wouldn’t forget where I placed it. I was planning to choose him as my employee anyway, so lost job applications didn’t influence my nepotism.

Casually, I strode over to the window in my office and opened the blinds, noting that the glass was cracked at the corner. I didn’t remember from what. I considered it could be from anything and pondered the day ahead of me.

It was fair and dry, a pleasant surprise for a day in New York, which typically came with humidity and heat this close to summer. Cars roared beneath me, and for the first time in hours, I began to feel a bit more at rest.

I noted that the job application sheet was buzzing with the sound vibrations of the radio. It was blurred into the other sounds of the street and the general bustling of the city which I seemed to donate my attention to for a moment too long. I was pulled back into the real world when something seemed…missing.

The radio wasn’t buzzing anymore.

The paper was gone.

In a frenzy, I raced out of my office, fingers tracing instinctively over the pistol in my waistband. Was I really ready to kill over a piece of paper? I hardly knew the boy’s name! It seemed that the culprit was quick and light on their feet, yet I still persevered in giving myself some kind of following.

As soon as I entered the slot room, my head spun. Lack of sleep will do that to you, especially when paired with substance abuse. I took a deep breath before continuing to race, my eyes strangely fixated on one vantage point to my left…

…and then I smacked right into my fragile brother.

I heard him grunt slightly as he went down under my weight, although this was normal, as I knew he hardly made sound anymore. I tried to keep myself relatively silent as well, not wanting to draw unneeded attention from the customers around us. Slaves to their machines and nothing more, they proved to be, fortunate for my brother’s anxiety and my very necessary reputation.

As quickly as possible, I shuffled off of him, not wanting to break him under my weight. He remained on the floor for longer than expected, shaking sporadically from the impact. Sudden and unexpected are not my brother’s favorite terms.

I moved myself to where he could see me, holding out my hand. Shakily, he took it, clearly still dazed by the whole incident. He could barely stand, looking notably more pale than usual.

“I’m sorry,” I signed worriedly, although I didn’t know if he would understand. His eyes seemed…unfocused, glazed.

It took him a second to understand, glancing to my hands, then back up at my face. All I could comprehend from his unusually messy execution of his words was “your intent.”

Not understanding but not wanting to force him to read lips at this time, I responded. “I was looking for something and got…” I considered the right word. “…dazed or distracted.”

The entire conversation was cutting me apart inside. Since we had fought the night previous, I felt something in our connection had snapped, almost as when one toys with a rubber band too much and the elasticity finally reaches its breaking point.

A tragic scene.

I still couldn’t make out his words. It was something like “you didn’t have the merit,” which didn’t particularly make sense in this case. I started getting frustrated, wondering if he was purposefully being confusing because…

…because he was the one who stole the application.

“Where the hell are you hiding it?” I asked, signing sharp and serious.

“I am not hiding.” My twin flashed a glare, the most concentrated thing I saw him do throughout the entire interaction and receded back to what I only assumed to be the bartender’s lounge. He made strange friends there.

My intuition told me to grab his shoulder and force him to explain, but something tugged at the back of my mind. It told me that I wouldn’t get anything out of being hostile.

I ran my hand through my hair and let out a long sigh, one that might compete with one of my father’s monsters of expressiveness. Begrudgingly, I stumbled back to my own room, feeling a hot weight resting on my shoulders. God, he probably thinks I’m a lunatic.

Wait, _he_ thinks I’m a lunatic?

He’s the insane one here. He’s the one who got admitted to the madhouse for a week. Good thing I loved him enough to break him out.

Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that chance and gotten my ass beat later.

Whatever, it’s water under the bridge now, I suppose. I just would like something to go right, for once.

And then it did.

I spotted the missing application under my desk.

 

I resolved to take the subway to MIT and see if I could locate where my client lived. I only remembered his last name, Pines, other facts and names being lost to the static of outside noise.

Well, he was the first Pines I had ever met in New York, aside from this one estranged scientist that caused my father hell.

“Your father was a good man,” he tried to tell me, subsequent to my dad’s death. “It was a pleasure working for him.”

I left-hooked him directly in the jaw, which I suppose he didn’t see coming. Feisty, like my mother at my age. Ready for a new battle at all times.

Distracted by these reflections, I pushed my way onto the subway as people exited, not considering my actions. I mean, everyone pushes their way on the subway. In New York, we all got places to be, and I’m not waiting on anyone’s slow, sorry ass.

Boarding, I bumped into a man seemingly made out of stone, the impact a bit harder than I would have cared for, but it was mostly an accident. Such things happen on public transport.

He whipped around, and luckily my periphery wasn’t too blurry from lack of sleep. I blocked his incoming fist, giving a slight grunt. The other passengers hardly noticed, I knew this shit must happen far too often for regulars to care anymore.

My eyes fixated to his.

 _Oh no,_ I heard our hearts thinking simultaneously.

He drew his solid hand down, toned well from years of experimentation and engineering.

“Sorry…” a small apology drawled from him.

He knew that I was his future employer with his job application in his pocket, stamped for approval.

It’s funny how your past fights come back to bite you in the ass.


	5. With Ears to See and Eyes to Hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm really tired, haha, also if you have read my past fics you know that I always base my chapter titles off of emo songs. Also I realized that the suicide tag was misspelled "suidice" because I posted this originally at like 4 in the morning but it's kind of amusing I guess. I also tried to fix it a few days ago but I guess it didn't save. Warnings for this chapter are allusions to suicide, mental illness, substance abuse/heavy drinking and the symptoms that follow them, and internalized homophobia.  
> Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. we'll get back to the subway scene soon. -Will

Will’s POV:  
I stayed up the whole night drinking.

I thought this was an activity I would never force myself to engage in, but god, the taste of self-destruction is so delectable proceeding a night of agony.

My stomach can’t hold liquor quite like my father’s or my brother’s, so I found myself inebriated upon glass number three and hunched over the bathroom sink upon glass six.

Alright, I didn’t stay up quite the whole night. I blacked out in the bathroom for what I can only assume to be an hour when my…bartending friend awoke me. I would have most likely choked on my own misery if left to wallow in the room alone, so I suppose it is a positive development that he found me.

Cleaning up, I took a seat at the bar once more, my friend offering me pretzels in order to quell the activity in my stomach. Accepting this and a glass of water, I watched the entrance.

Before he walked through, I knew that boy was approaching. I felt threatened, almost deceived. As he entered, I turned to sign to my friend, asking him how the night was treating him so far.

“Better with you,” he replied strangely. No one had ever spoken to me like that. Somehow, I didn’t feel threatened by it, though, taking another sip of my water and smiling with my eyes.

I felt prying eyes on my shoulder. No, not my shoulder. Where my ear used to be.

I glanced over quickly, my heart jumping in my throat with alertness, and I caught him staring.

He knew who I was. I knew who he was.

And I knew what he was here for.

He clearly realized that he had been standing in the entrance for too long, striding lazily over to his earlier mistakes. His arm looked strained with the weight of what I could only assume to be tools.

Then, my brother emerged. A regrettable sight really, ideally I would not have to endure more of his impulsive actions, but so I had to. Honestly, the heavy drinking must have caused me some brain damage, enough that I couldn’t understand what they were saying when I ordinarily could read their lips from afar.

And then my twin grabbed his arm.

I stared in shock, nearly gripping my cup to its breaking point. I think I saw my bartender friend move in my periphery to ask me what was wrong, but I failed to respond.

Oh, that was a smooth move. The college student appeared more than flustered, as anyone might. I was nearly concerned for his safety as I knew that…well, that such relationships between men might be seen as…vile.

Why was the bartender being so nice to me? Is the booze making things weird? I questioned my remaining sanity, feeling my stomach swirl once more. I continued to stare at the student as he began renovating the machine, but my attention was turned away by a tap on my shoulder.

My new friend was quite concerned. “You seem captured.”

I shakily removed my hand from my glass, pursing my lips as I considered. “My staring can be aimless, that is all.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Are you angry with your brother?” he brought his stool nearer to me and continued drying the various alcohol glasses, watching me with an intent to understand.

Something in my chest fluttered with this show of affection. I had never seen such an affinity towards kindness from a man. We’re all taught to harden ourselves or get our backs whipped. I suppose I wasn’t strong enough to avoid the abuse that came with weakness.

I looked to either side of me, realizing there was few of our customers around. Our blackjack dealer seemed to be dusting.

I broke down. The lump in my throat exploded into something I could no longer conceal, fear, frustration, and impatience all melding into one sour concoction of an emotional reaction.

I was always an emotional man, but a silent crier. There wasn’t much else I could be if I wanted to live to see the sun one more day.

My friend set down his glass and grabbed my free hand, this obviously being the loudest I had ever been around him.

When I was able to focus on him, he spoke, and I read his lips. “Your hands are warmer than normal.”

How did he know the normal temperature of my hands? What had Bill told him? What…what had I done in my drunken hours? Shaking my head and leaving his grasp, I signed. “It’s from the liquor.”

Tears continued to fall, no matter how hard I forced down the snake of emotion that insistently slithered up my throat.

He signed to me, then proceeded to continue his glass cleaning activity. “Tell me what’s on your mind. A bartender doesn’t share secrets. Not even to the _capo bastone._ ”

I didn’t meet his gaze for about a half minute.

My hands shook with anticipation of my action. Was I really going to tell him?

I proceeded to spill. I told him everything I remembered, about my hallucinations, paranoia, anxieties, necessity to be constantly moving, manic ticks, being trapped in the madhouse, how bad our father beat us, our loud-mouth mother, being insanely talented at math, and everything in between.

I told him about the night I never spoke of to anyone else after it occurred, not even to my own brother, who was with me that night, when I would never hear his voice again. I told him about how gunshots feel, how unnerving it was to see my own brother nearly ripping his own hands off against his bounds, and how our father just put us up to this bet because of his esteemed scientist that he respected more than the lives of his own twin boys.

I told him about our most recent fight, and how I thought something broke between us.

I told him about the rope and the shotgun I keep in the lower left drawer of my desk.

And now, someone knew it all. Someone knew more about me than my brother, and the story came right from my own hands.

I wouldn’t say the look on his face was particularly shock, but it wasn’t pleasant. Something itched inside of him. After he finished cleaning the glasses, he began instinctively picking at the chipping wood of the bar as he watched my flying hands.

After I finished, his black eyes met with my blue.

“William,” he began speaking first, then moved to signing. “…who do you love?”

Ordinarily, I would respond with “my brother,” and pretend as if I didn’t understand the inquiry, but I wasn’t sure of this fact anymore.

“I don’t…” I wrung my hands, attempting to form a complete thought. “I don’t believe I have the capacity for such a thing.”

The bartender nodded at me. I didn’t know what he was insinuating.

“You are wrong.” He turned to face his head to me as he spoke. Setting down the tray of glasses, he signed. “And I don’t think this will be with the right _woman,_ either.” He exaggerated the symbol of the sex.

I wasn’t biased against such an idea. I knew society was appalled by it, though. My face must have been much too tired for anything in terms of understandable expression.

Slouching over, I glanced to the entrance of our trick business. The engineer walked out almost confidently, obviously having a securing realization.

He made the mistake of glancing at me.

I made sure that he wouldn’t make that mistake again, if he could avoid it.

Turning back to my friend, I caught him evenly filing the glasses in the cabinet. I found myself dazed by the execution of his organization, geometric and orderly.

Slumping over myself, I must have moaned. My eyes began to fall out of focus, and I reached for a water cup that wasn’t there.

I saw the bartender move, but I couldn’t tell if it was to scan me or not.

I fell backwards off the stool just as the college student exited, my last memory being reaching forward for a hand that was just a bit too late.


	6. (Mis) Adventures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I hope you like the romantic progression in this chapter. Also, I performed my dramatic reading in front of my friend and she said that my voice was very calming, so basically, I'm a god on this earth- just kidding. Anyway I hope you all like it! no major warnings except for slight internalized homophobia. -Will

Dipper’s POV:  
_Oh no._

I had really fucked it up this time, huh? Curse the genetic trait that allows such hubris to consume me!

I began to curse my ancestry less as I picked up on the expression of my future employer, who’s eyes almost began to tell the same thought. I began to wonder if he had slammed into me on purpose, or at least partially out of spite.

I lowered my guard, swallowing the rising tension in my throat. “Sorry…”

He gave his classically charming grin, although it was hindered by the clear exhaustion in his eyes. Something had happened, and that something scared the cockiness right out of him. I almost felt bad for his condition, offering to carry his briefcase and allowed him a spot to hold on to the rail next to mine.

We stood in silence for a minute and I executed my classic move of staring down aimlessly at my current partner’s shoes. “Wow, your feet are way bigger than mine.” The sentence stumbled out awkwardly, as if I had only said my first words yesterday. The feeling of fire crept up my ears. Why the hell did I say that?

The blond let out an unusually hearty laugh, and I felt each piece of my conscious becoming more dedicated to him by the second. He narrowed his eyes as he compared the sizes against the gray, textured floor of the subway car, ostensibly in order to see better.

He probably didn’t want a pair of thick glasses to hinder his gorgeously produced face.

“I suppose your correct. You’re one of the stranger college students that’s drunkenly wandered into my casino, that’s for sure.” He gave me a gentle hum, adjusting his suspender with his one free hand and sliding his other down the rail just slightly to meet with my own.

For a moment, I quite enjoyed the sensation, soon realizing that I hadn’t felt such an expression of affection in years. To conquer my anxieties in my teenage years, I solely buried myself in work. This certainly paid off in setting up a career for myself, perhaps, but not in the area of improving my social skills. I might have been more apt to having eyes for women if I had practiced enough.

I might not have to deal with being so goddamn strange.

Alas, this was not the life I chose. After my quiet, temporary reflection, I promptly removed my hand from the bar, paranoid about what the others on the train might see or think. When I glanced around, though, I noted that they didn’t have the capacity to care. Everyone was a slave to their work, just trying to get from place to place.

They weren’t concerned with what some questionably intelligent college student was doing with the…the owner of a casino.

I thought for a moment. Wasn’t their casino notorious throughout the state? No one ever came out the same, I had always heard. They must put something in that alcohol, another told me.

I remember laughing at that. Yeah, no shit there’s something in the alcohol, if you drink a fermented beverage intended to intoxicate you, you can bet your ass that it’s going to embrace its purpose.

Apparently I had been quiet for too long while I pondered, and my future partner moved his hand down to grace my shoulder. I hardly felt the touch through my button up, yet I snapped my head up and met his gaze.

“I expressed concern over your late night when we last met,” he said, his expression serious yet supportive. “You seem…less responsive.”

I took in a deep breath and broke my gaze as I considered. “I suppose you’re right. I’m a bit…nervous, I must say. Oh-…” I broke my sentence off, realizing why I had been taking the subway for in the first place. “Why are you headed to MIT?”

Bill’s expression went blank for a moment as he gathered his thoughts about the consequence of our meeting. “Oh, that’s right, I was going to see if I could find your place of residence. I, uh…” he stalled for a moment, slapping his shirt pocket first before reaching in and returning my job application. “I hired you.”

The sentence was almost expected, and I knew that the experience was almost dull from Bill’s perspective, but internally, I was unbelievably excited. I mean, hell, who drunkenly wanders into an establishment and later becomes one of their respected employees?

I thanked him and gave a gentle smile, sliding the accepted application into my back pocket. I felt safe, almost as if I had belonged next to this person for my entire life.

The speaker sounded, first giving an appropriate screech to indicate that a voice was about to be processed. I considered what shitty technology they had, and how I could make it better. “Now arriving at Kendall/MIT. Please stand clear of the opening doors.”

“I know that look,” Bill’s eyes twinkled with what I can only define as a boyish arrogance.

“I’d rather die than not improve this subway technology? You know _that_ look?” I responded, giving him a half-grin.

“Of course, I do…well…let’s save this discussion for another time. Can I come with you to your…residence? You know, since I’m already here.” He broke his gaze with me, a sign of what I considered tempting submission.

“It’s no problem. I’d love to have you over.” Although I remained a bit exhausted, I imagined everything I could do to build my reputation. Show him my projects, experiments, and…maybe return a few of his physical favors.

He purred a pleased response as we stepped out, grabbing our respective belongings.

Anxiety crawled up my throat. What the hell was I doing?

 

I managed to fight down my anxiousness as we walked, and upon arriving home, I ensured that the blinds were closed. It was bright enough that light could seep into the room, yet no one could peer in if they cared to.

My voice and movements stumbled over themselves as I showed him a few of my projects, including a motor for a cooling device that I thought would be useful during the summers.

I admired him for his genuine interest in my ideas, even if he didn’t understand what the hell I was talking about. In order to build credibility, I attempted to baffle him with my knowledge of such mechanics.

God, I prayed he didn’t give me a kitchen job. I prayed he also wouldn’t notice that I didn’t really have much of a kitchen or a food source.

Wandering casually around my apartment, I heard his voice echo from the other room. “Would you mind explaining this?”

I rushed over, my thoughts racing about what he might have found.

His blonde hair was a bit messier than usual, most likely from mild exhaustion, rather than in its normal, slicked back state. God, how his profile glowed in the soft light that seeped through the blinds, golds complimenting his bright complexion, thick brow, and well-shaped nose. I was captivated, completely forgetting what the hell I entered the room for.

“Uh…” he glanced to me and drawled, motioning for me to come closer.

I snapped out of my daze and shook my head, approaching.

“Why were-…why were you looking through my drawers?” I was truthfully appalled, sour memories flooding back to me of certain times around my parents. It was convenient that I had been able to design locks for my drawers at the time, but after leaving the invasive home, I hadn’t considered it.

He pointed to a silver pair of handcuffs, not responding to my previous inquiry.

My voice was turbulent as I attempted to answer, falling for his assertiveness in his own inquiry. I tried to lie. “Oh…uh…I escaped the cops once when I they caught me smoking underage. I was a little too rowdy for them, I guess. It’s my souvenir from the experience.” Awkwardly massaging the back of my neck after my statement, I gave a nervous laugh.

Bill’s voice came out blunt. “You’re a liar, but you’re cute, so I’ll let it go. What are these for?”

I looked down anxiously, swallowing my faux pride. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

My employer took my jaw in his smooth hands, just as full of life as I had remembered them from our last run-in. I stammered, drawing my arms back.

“You’ll know how to describe it as soon as I’m done with you.” His accent thickened, the strong-willed New York Italian surfacing. And god, how I adored it as much as it terrified me.

His breath was hot against my face, a hint of nicotine on his breath. I knew the smell well enough, recalling feeling and accepting its warm embrace.

My expression must have told it all. His eyelids lowered, and I noted the golden flakes in his otherwise blue eyes. I noted the heartbeat in his hand, pulsing to a rhythm that I had been subconsciously distracting myself with.

Mind swirling with thought, I accepted my fate. I couldn’t convince myself against the fact that part of my motivation for bringing him here was to make some moves in private, but it seemed that everything was progressing a bit faster than I expected.

His flushed hand slid gently down to embrace my neck, almost the entire area of it being consumed by his large palm.

He spoke with a hushed tone. “Do you trust me?”


	7. A Violent String of Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys it's Will and I'm very happy today :) sorry this chapter is a little shorter than normal. I think it serves Bill's perspective well, though. A few warnings for this one, graphic depictions of violence and injury, and sadism. I hope you enjoy some of the progression this entails! -Will

Bill’s POV:  
Nothing about the brunet’s body language told me no.

Sustaining his gaze with mine, he spoke with surprising fluidity. “You haven’t given me a reason not to.”

I felt my grin become dangerous as my grip on his throat tightened.

Immediately, the student faltered under my grasp, his knees buckling slightly as his body caught up with his mind. My experiment ended a bit quicker than I expected.

He coughed and moaned in pain, brow furrowing in an ambivalence of terror and rage. Wringing my wrist almost to the breaking point, he freed himself with a sharp breath and cowered away from my grasp, his shaking hand shuffling for something in his drawer. He secured a knife in his left hand.

I watched him with a plain face, clearly another source of fear for the brunet. He probably wondered how a man could be so indifferent to causing someone harm.

Reaching my hand out to touch him once more proved to be a difficult task. Dipper’s eyes flew wider with dismay as he extended his weapon slightly. His voice was dangerous, unlike anything I had expected to hear out of him.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” There was an unmistakable poison in the student’s tone.

“Your lesson is that you shouldn’t trust anyone.” I kept my tone even yet dire. “The minute they capture your naive heart is the moment you sentence yourself to death.”

My words clearly struck an awful chord with him. Dipper’s expression morphed to one of deceit and what I considered misery, his previously readied hand shaking wildly with his fleeting thoughts.

He dropped his knife, rubbing the area where my hand once was. I saw the red outlines of my fingers, but this didn’t disturb me as it might ordinarily distress another. He was silent, almost as if he had nothing for my ears to hear.

Something spilled out of him that I didn’t prepare for. What I almost thought to be a nervous laugh threatened to emerge, then it became a head shake. He kept his gaze to the floor.

“I… _liked_ that.”

My expression must have been absolutely priceless, because the minute he looked up at me, his demeanor diverted from one of absolute security in his confession to one of amusement.

“Guess you didn’t prepare for that one, huh?” I didn’t meet his gaze.

“Don’t…you…okay.” I took in a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. It made sense. I liked it too, but I was genuinely taken aback by his readiness to admit it. “Well, I mean, the more important thing is that you learned the lesson that I just tried to teach you.”

Dipper nodded, looking down slightly in an attempt to meet my gaze. How unusually bold of him. “Oh, yeah, I understand perfectly. I will admit, you had me a bit shocked there. Now…as much as I want to…return the favor, I suppose you most likely have business to attend to.” He purred his statement out, this obviously being a matter of newfound confidence.

I found myself faltering slightly under his gaze, as the new bridge in our relationship took some getting used to. Why the hell was he being so bold? Of course, he must know that such acts, especially with another man, are frowned upon. More than frowned upon…persecuted. I suppose he was over-indulgent to what I was insinuating because of an overwhelming desire.

A desire not even the smartest of engineers could overcome.

I nodded, trying to pull myself out of an uncomfortable daze. Perhaps I needed to harden myself more to surprise and my own desires. “Well…it seems you’re right, I do have work to do, but…” I trailed off for a second, wondering what drove me to ask this question. “Can you come see me after your classes on Monday?”

The brunet considered for a minute, nodding. “Surely, this won’t be much of a problem.” I could see his intuitive eyes searching for something he could surprise me with, already plotting his next encounter with me.

I grinned with anticipation, never feeling so excited to meet a person in my entire adult life. All I was typically left with were sour memories and a distaste for strangely specific attributes in people.

I had no qualms about my sweet engineer.

 

On my way home, I felt almost hollow as I came down from the high of earlier excitement. The subway was strangely tense, as if I was being held suspect for some ridiculous crime.

God, was I really feeling guilty? I’m an adult! My private affairs aren’t something to be persecuted by the general public. Swallowing my paranoia, I thought about his shoes. Somehow, it was intensely calming to remember the student’s strange quirks.

My own shoes clicked in the messy echo of the rest of the exiting passengers as we milled through the damp tunnel. I didn’t much care for such transport, but traffic was much to hellish to even consider driving as an option. I considered my stress-indulged brother.

Oh god, what was I going to have to face inside?

My mind pondered how I could run away, but I heard the voice of my father echoing in my mind. “You’re fucking weak.”

I can’t be weak.

Cautiously, I opened the door, and immediately saw my brother dash by, light on his feet. I was glad he was feeling better after his rough night and our earlier incident, but I…couldn’t purge my slight frustration with him.

And with that consideration, I pursued him to the kitchen. I almost called his name, conveniently forgetting his disability.

When I cornered him, we were at the end of the hallway that bore the entrances to our respective workrooms. He snapped around on his heel, almost as if he had been frustrated with the fact that I was trying to get his attention.

“What.” The interrogative word formed sharply from his hands.

“We need to speak, now.” I made sure to be serious yet biting back my intimidation. This was the furthest I had ever felt from my brother emotionally. I recalled the night in the hospital, dampening my fury.

My alternate seemed to have a peculiar energy about him, one that had been only picked up since I had been gone. Perhaps he saw it fit to play _capo bastone_ in my place. Sincerely, I hoped this didn’t accel his haughtiness.

Brothers need balance. I don’t need a new ego belonging to William himself to interfere with my scams. I could tell he read my thought process nearly perfectly, and I felt…invaded. Just as I did on the subway, I felt vulnerable to the eye, something I last remember feeling when I took out that terrible scientist.

My brother grabbed me by the shirt collar, his hands tremoring with anxiousness and strain. Panicked, I thought back to my earlier experience with my engineering friend. “ _I would like to return the favor._ ”

Ah, he meant return a lesson, I considered. In that moment, I understood precisely what he intended to return.

Perhaps…I went a little too far.

Perhaps removing my brother’s soft, gentle hand from the collar of my shirt and the tie slowly suffocating me would have been well enough.

My father told us that dumb strength wouldn’t get us anywhere, and things had to be controlled.

“I don’t know who you think you’re trying to scare,” my accent thickened as the bones in his fragile wrist cracked under my iron grasp. “but it sure as fuck isn’t gonna be me.”

My brother’s knees buckled, the color draining from his face with the unbearable injury, concocted with deceit. Just as the bones in his wrist, a bridge between us snapped, but I suppose this was in lieu of creating another with a lover.

I let him drop once he screamed, feeling regret creeping up my spine. That scream wasn’t right. I recalled I hadn’t heard him yell since before he was Deaf, and any sound since then had been a soft grunt or a sigh.

It was disturbingly off-key, the focus drifting from his eyes.

“You bastard…” he cried out loud, sliding down the wall he was backed into as he cradled his mistake of a hand. Clearly, his throat was strained from not speaking in so many years, any practice or memory of vibration lost to time.

I was disturbed to no end, dread settling in my stomach. Sure, I was a sadist, but not like this. Not for someone I used to love unconditionally.

He continued to sob, hardly fearful of my moving shadow.

“Get the fuck away from me.”


	8. Man of Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: depictions of violence, blood, and injury, and allusion to murder.

Will’s POV:  
Broken.

That’s the only word that sustained itself in my mind at the moment.

My bones were broken.

My trust was broken.

My heart was broken.

Our bridge was broken.

I thought pain couldn’t get much worse than a gunshot, save for a slower or more torturous death. But, on this day I was proven wrong.

I had to swallow the bile forcing itself up my throat in avoidance of digging a deeper grave for myself. In this moment, I wasn’t sure of my brother’s future actions that I had once been consistently certain of in the past.

I didn’t entirely realize that I had spoken my first words to my brother since the incident. I said anything, anything that would scare him enough into leaving me alone and force him to think about the act he committed. My breathing became sharp as his shadow left mine.

The pain was more than excruciating, more than just the fact it was mixed with deception and blind anger and my failures to express my emotional needs. With each pump of my heart, the edges of my vision blackened, an unmistakable pulsing in my temples.

It was surely worse than when I had been shot.

Some misplaced buzzing in the back of my psyche told me to survive. I knew, despite my physical and emotional weakness, that things could only improve from certain death. But god, did I want to abandon the light so badly.

I wished the blackness would consume my vision.

Just a taste of demise would be enough.

I didn’t require more.

I never required more.

As I considered my troubled state and an overwhelming desire to self-destruct, I thought about it logistically. A snapped wrist couldn’t kill me unless it got terribly infected, in which case I would take an alternate route out as opposed to that kind of suffering.

I called for my bartender friend, praying that somehow he was in the near vicinity.

Twins aren’t so different that way. I had been always told that our intuitions were impeccable.

Horrified, he crept around the corner, clearly never hearing my voice in the past, or such an expression of his name coming from me. “Oh-…oh no…” I saw him utter, being careful to not approach me pursuantly.

Dread pooled in my stomach as my vision deceived me, abandoning my hand that was doing the cradling job of the other broken mess in exchange for reaching out towards his rough palm.

My eyes focused in and out, unable to concentrate nearly enough to even consider reading lips to be an option. I could sense he was trying to communicate with me as I was lifted and brought to his chest.

I caught him looking to either side frantically, knowing what he was attempting to plan. My eyes fixed on him for long enough to delude me into confidence, speaking aloud once more. God, I hoped my voice wasn’t repulsive.

“Bill caused this. Don’t go to him.”

His stare was wrathful, my faux consciousness giving me just enough time to feel the fear stab into my heart.

My senses distorted.

I earned my wish.

 

When I awoke, voices rang in my head for the first time I can remember, a part of my psyche triggering themes that I was unable to force myself to forget. I found myself sitting up bolt straight immediately, vague memories of an incident swirling in my head. The room was still and warm, almost too still to breathe in.

Perhaps it had been a dream. To come to think of it, I didn’t recall waking up from being blackout drunk, so it might have just been my mind playing tricks. It took too much of my power to glance down at my wrist.

Pain jolted through my neck, but I wasn’t absolutely sure if I yelped or not.

The room was exceedingly dim, yet I saw the textures that embraced my right wrist.

The hand I squeezed so tightly around my twin’s clothing in order to teach him a lesson, one that I would soon regret with my full being.

The hand that broke my bond with this same twin for good.

As soon as I came out of my daze, the pain returned to me in a wave of disgusting agony. My temples pulsed once more, darkening my periphery with strain. My vision flashed as I saw the bedroom door being opened, and I soon realized I wasn’t in my own room.

This was Bill’s room.

He switched on the light, and I captured the man I once thought of the only person that I had the capacity to admire spattered in blood. His white button-up retained permanent damage, almost a  sick way of atoning for his sins, dark liquid shimmering on his black suspenders. What was perhaps most unsettling was his face, exhaustion paired with a grin that only the sickest of men could pull off.

“You’re up.” I saw the pistol prepared in his right hand.

I came to the sudden realization that I had spoken more on this awful day than I had in the majority of my life. Shaking the comparison away from my consciousness, I didn’t try at communication.

I wanted to see how long he thought he could terrify me.

“Oh, my boy can’t speak, huh? Not anymore?” His body language was certainly cynical.

I remained resilient.

“Ooh, looks like someone can’t sign either. Well, I took care of that problem. You’ll be healed up in no time, my dear.” Unless I read that wrong, he referred to me as “my dear.” What drugs was he on this time?

As he approached, the copper scent of blood was almost overwhelming, almost enough to make me flinch out of my stubborn expression. It wasn’t just blood, it was booze. He couldn’t have, no, that wouldn’t make any sense, I considered. I nearly assumed the worst, wanting to take a maniac laugh and a walk around the kitchen.

Actually, I had realized, I would like nothing more than to get up right now. I needed to move my legs. I needed to do something, anything, to make myself useful. As I attempted to shift my legs out from under the covers, I made an abhorrent discovery.

My ankles were bound.

Acting out in my initial terror, I looked desperately up at my brother, making a weak attempt to break my bounds. All I considered was death, and I was trapped in this room with this man of poison.

I wanted to scream, but a hand covered my mouth, too large for me to consider biting it. I suppose we had enough connection left that he could still predict my actions.

Why was he wearing latex gloves? What evidence would be covered that way? The taste of the powder was sharp on my tongue, and I repulsed at the feeling.

“You don’t like that, huh?” He forced my eyes up to meet his face. When I closed them in defiance, I was met with a startling slap, tears threatening to fall.

“I do not accept defiance from those under me. You have proven to me that you are no second in command.” What the hell was he talking about? Why was Bill pissed to the point of being devoid of all empathy? He was the one who caused this…stupid fight, and that’s all it was, a stupid fight.

I began to form a plot in my head, one so sporadic that he would have no hope of following it with his invasive techniques. He grinned to me, reading my plotting eyes.

My body language remained more than obedient as he spoke, but I didn’t focus enough on his words to comprehend much. No, I was much too lost in my own thought.

I could show him what being a second in command really means, if he really wanted to go about this in a petty, competitive sort of way.

I think he conveniently forgot I was his assassin. Deaf assassin, at that, and I had never failed.

And some ankle bounds weren’t about to change this fact, nor would a broken wrist.

My eyes darted slightly as I plotted, feigning some kind of urgency or fear. Bill’s grin only grew wider, his eyes more focused, as he ostensibly dominated me.

I began to sob, making sure to make the act convincing, but not utilizing my hands to paw at him or any of that. I had a plan, and he would be running by now if he knew what I was plotting.

I was always one step ahead of him, one percent smarter, one percent faster, in exchange for one percent of my sanity.

As I sobbed, clenching my eyes in phantom pain to make myself appear even more disadvantaged, he rubbed the glass tears from my cheek with his latex thumb. I started feeling a reaction to the unfriendly substance.

With a bold swing of my bound legs, I kicked both of his Achilles with all of my might. He yelped, clearly caught off guard by the attack, and knocked right on his back. Moaning, his body began to tremor.

With haste, I grabbed the knife from his top right drawer and sliced through my bounds, immediately pinning his chest. My twin struggled to communicate, all that managed to come out being strangled groans and curses.

He kicked wildly under me, forgetting that I was insanely effective at dealing with strugglers. Terror shot through his eyes as he glanced at my face, apparently more intensely furious than he had prepared for.

He pointed his pistol between my eyes, panting with a desire for further air. His hands shook just as the rest of his body from the sudden trauma, completely ready to save himself and only himself.

The pistol clicked.

Bill was out of bullets.

And once again, we were young twin boys in one of our notorious tussles.


	9. Masked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of updates recently, but I was finally inspired to write again. warnings include graphic depictions of violence, descriptions of injury, fire, near death experiences, and the like.

Bill’s POV:  
Oh, fuck.

In my haste, I had clearly forgotten that my twin was an assassin. An assassin that I, particularly, trained. That I had trained to get out of situations completely like this.

I despise admitting when I’m wrong. Although this might be considered a flaw by some, I truthfully consider it more of an advantage than anything. I have the confidence of the goddamn innocent.

In any case, I was out of bullets, and my very dangerous, fucked in the head, assassin brother was crushing my chest. Just another day in the mafia, I suppose. My face was on fire, the stillness of the room seeming more than suffocating. Or, perhaps, it was the knee crushing my diaphragm. Who knows?

Seeing stars in my periphery, I writhed under my twin’s glare, putting my hands up to surrender. Although he couldn’t hear, I knew all too well that he could feel. My eyes drifted to the phantom streaks made by his empty tears.

“Remove the gloves,” Will snarled. His voice remained just as unsettling as before.

Stomach sinking, I obliged, following his next commands carefully.

He began signing to the best of his ability, eyes glancing with disdain upon my blood-stained white button up between every few words. “Empty your…” I couldn’t really understand the final word.

Noting my confusion, he begrudgingly showed me his pockets. I would never live this one down.

A few coins, a piece of paper with incomprehensible numbers, and wiring I stole from my engineering lover. Nothing more.

Satisfied, my brother allowed me some breathing room, but kept my wrists pinned under his knees. I could tell he was beginning to tire, or run out of ideas, one of the two.

“I could kill you, here and now,” he began, trying his best to communicate clearly with one working hand. Seeds of remorse grew on his face.

I felt little shame.

“…and I would feel little remorse.” This was quite a lie, as I saw how his face turned. He began once more. “What have you done?”

I was truthful, letting him read my lips. “The bartender knew too much.” My eyes narrowed, recalling my short interrogation. It was bold of my brother to assume that he had any freedoms in informing our staff of his past of martyrdom and suffering. God, it made me sick.

“You killed my best friend.” He signed bluntly, although there was really no other way to do it. I saw his throat tense as he choked down his tears.

I was once his best friend, but it seemed this was no longer the case.

Resentfully, I struggled to release my hands, as I felt him begin to lean harder. “Please-…”

He cut me off. “You broke my wrist.” I suppose it was time to atone for my sins of the night.

Will signed once more, eyes glassy and almost unfocused. “You broke my trust.”

Here comes the list.

“You broke our bond.”

“You broke my resilience.”

His eyes darted to the discarded gloves. “You broke my love.”

His glare became much more fierce, cerulean eyes nearly as intense as my own.

“You broke our family.” I felt the pressure on my wrists start to intensify, gritting my teeth in a deadly concoction of fear and fury.

“You-“ I cut off his statement, clenching my eyes shut.

“You’re hurting me!” It was the only statement I could sputter out, feeling my muscles quaking with pain.

“I BETTER FUCKING BE!” Will screeched back, intensifying the pressure to a shattering point.

Before I could perceive any real pain, it all went black.

 

“Twins must meet the same fate.”

A voice rang out in the back of my head. For some reason, I personified it as the voice of my mother, which was utterly disturbing. Perhaps hearing myself say “you’re hurting me” triggered a memory that I much rather forget.

My discarded, useless pistol remained on the floor, although I could only see a moonlit glimmer of it in the darkened room. I felt purely exhausted, quickly coming off of my psychotic rage.

I couldn’t move my arms or feel my feet, which was more than strange, but I didn’t think much of it. I seemed to be standing.

It was cold, yet the air was much too suspended for it to be comfortable. My eyes felt lazy, shutting and opening slower than I would prefer. Everything was slow, almost multiplying itself.

I couldn’t find myself recalling what happened. As I attempted further to recall the past events, the fire seemed to intensify.

The fire?

I felt heat begin to rip through me, smoke incinerating my palate as I made a desperate attempt for non-toxic air. In fact, the toxicity was all-consuming, destructive sounds of the ravaging flames deafening in the previously hushed room.

I tried to run, feeling ascended from my body in some strange manner. Unable to move or scream, I became frantic at the thought of my flesh being consumed by the flame. Where was my brother? I wondered if he was still passed out…

…and then I promptly awoke to rushed whispers and the quaking of my shoulder.

“…idiot, wake the fuck up! Oh my god-…” I snapped my head up, feeling a soft groan escape as a headache ripped through my neck and temples.

Relief sounded from the other, clearly not my brother, but familiar enough to be someone I trusted. Discovering my mouth was gagged, I whined, coughing weakly in memory of my dream.

“Please be quiet for me.” God, the voice was entrancing. What a nice change of pace from…earlier.

Oh yeah, earlier. I struggled against the chair I was now tied to, embarrassment beginning to manifest itself in my chest. I didn’t like being seen as so weak. But god, I couldn’t deny that there was something so…stimulating about it.

The mystery person wore a large, black mask, gloved hands being particularly careful with my wrists. I writhed in pain as they accidentally struck a bad nerve, but I was determined to cooperate.

Huh, it sounded strangely like my lover, but almost less gruff.

Freed from the remnants of my brother’s wrath, I suffered as I attempted to stand, coughing as my throat adjusted to the lack of an obstruction. The mystery hero was careful not to damage my body further as they lifted me.

I lacked adequate perception, but I saw what looked like a quick head glance as they closed my bedroom door with their foot. Sneaking past the slaving customers, they made a run for the exit, going completely unnoticed by any guards.

Damn, I really needed to fire those guards. I mean, I was getting kidnapped, and they weren’t even-…

Wait, I was getting kidnapped.

“Wait!” I yelled as the door of the passenger seat of the hero’s car slammed in my face, wrists much too swollen and pained to do much. I yelled as they opened the driver’s door and slipped in, but a gloved hand promptly concealed my mouth. God, not this again. Please!

She removed her mask and hood, and I noted her nearly polar similarities to my engineering lover. My panic morphed into a peculiar trust.

She laughed, grin slightly crooked, just as my partner’s was. “I’d know that recognition anywhere. So, you’re the guy, huh? I thought you might…not allow yourself to get in so much trouble.” She removed the hand from my face.

“What-…I-…” I began to become defensive, swallowing hard. Instead of arguing with the person who probably just saved me from my demise, I begrudgingly asked her a question instead. “How did you know?”

Although vague, the intent was situationally obvious. “I have connections,” she hummed with a shrug, putting on my seatbelt for me as she recognized that I was unable. “Here, I’ll take you to my place, and we’ll get you a splint or something.”

Starting her car, she glanced out the window for oncoming traffic and promptly sped towards the establishment she was ostensibly staying in. Strange, she didn’t have a seatbelt.

“Who are you anyway?” I asked quietly.

“Well, I’m the twin of a certain someone you might know.” She laughed once more, the radio droning quietly in the background. The car smelled of cigarettes and leather, but the familiarity was pleasant. Man, this kid was cool.

I assumed this “someone” was my new employee, understanding my recognition of her. I thought my partner had mentioned that he lived in Oregon previously, though, so I didn’t particularly understand this development.

As we drove, I noted how she glided in particularly straight lines. Most likely apt to running machines, just like her brother. “I wanted to give my brother a surprise visit, and I had…this strange instinct to visit your casino. Dipper had described to me a frail, blue haired man who would sulk at the bar, and I thought he was insane, but I saw him as I entered and knew something was up.”

I nodded, indicating I understood. My eyes were tired, and I craved a smoke more than anything, but I wasn’t tempted to ask. I glanced to the clock, seeing it was 3:47 in the morning. Must be a family of night owls, then.

She continued, clearly seeing me nod in her periphery. “Well, not just that. He’s told me a bit about you…and he said he was concerned. I dressed for the occasion accordingly and…here we are.” She chuckled slightly, glancing to her glove compartment as she pulled in the parking space in front of her motel room.

“Care for a smoke?” The inquiry was pure.

I began to answer in the affirmative, but I stopped myself, realizing that I couldn’t really do that effectively without my hands. “I’ll pass, for now.”

Seemingly understanding the entirety of my reasoning, she nodded, helping me out of the car and towards her room. Promptly, she provided me with two splints and a cold drink before rushing over to her desk and shuffling her papers. “Damn, where is it…” she mumbled quietly, letting out a breathy sigh.

“Ah!” She grinned upon finding the torn note, then picked up the phone and began wheeling an unknown number. I found myself admiring her tenacity.

“Hey Dipper-…of course you’re awake. Yeah, it’s me, I’m in New York to surprise you. No-…no don’t be mad. Hey, it’s okay, just-….just listen to me for a minute. I’m at the hotel a few miles down from the casino, you know, the one where you fixed the-…yeah, that one. Anyway, if you can’t sleep, come down, I have a surprise for you. Ok-…ok, alright, I’ll see you in a bit. Alright-…ok, don’t kill yourself driving. Okay, bye.”

She hung up the phone. In my slight delirium and exhaustion, I found myself laughing in an almost uncontrolled manner.

“I know, he’s a fighter, huh?” She grinned and sat on the bed next to me, letting out a quiet sigh as she reached over to turn on the light.

“Oh, right, my name is Mabel, nice to finally make your acquaintance. Well, I suppose it’s a bit more intimate than that, since…well, I saved you and all.” She laughed once more, patting my back gently.

The touch was welcomed, and I smiled back. “Bill Cipher, but you probably already know that.” I almost reached out my hand to shake hers, conveniently forgetting the consequences of my punishment.

There was a brief silence, but I broke it with a narcissistic inquiry. “So, how much has he told you?”

Mabel considered for a moment, tapping her fingers against the bedspread. “Well, not much, you know, he can be a bit…allusive, I guess. He’s told me about you, and the machine he fixed, and what you look like…uh, well.”

She straightened her posture before continuing, then removing her gloves. I kept my gaze steady, eyes clearly curious.

“Well, you know, I know what is really going on.” She gave a breathy laugh. “He likes you…a lot.” The sparkle in her eye was almost…chaotic. In fact, her entire vibe was chaotic, and I quite liked that.

“Oh, I know full well.” I found almost too much spilling from my lips. Suddenly, I understood my own twin’s raging desire to be heard, to be understood, and felt guilt tear at my stomach. I digressed from my own thoughts, though, and continued.

Mabel’s look became…unidentifiable. “He also said you did something…concerning.”

I laughed nervously.

Oh, fuck.


	10. Deceptive Deviant(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: depictions of violence, blood, lying, underage drinking

Dipper’s POV:  
“Hello, Dipper Pines speaking-…Mabel? What the hell are you doing, why are you-…no, why are you calling so late-…yeah, I fixed the wiring of the lights and it almost killed me-…alright, I suppose I’ll make my way, then. Ok, see you in a bit. Alright, bye.”

God, her tenacity frustrates me sometimes.

In any case, it seemed I was taking the late-night subway once more. I wondered what “present” or “surprise” she could have for me this time. A new part? Some joke? Something to screw me up, again? In any case, I wasn’t particularly in a mood to go outside.

In fact, the only thing I would even consider emerging from the safety of my apartment for was my partner.

Wait, my partner. God, I hoped he was okay. Paranoia is a hell of a drug, as I have mentioned before. That’s why I almost felt bad for Bill’s fragile brother.

Something told me he was in trouble, though. I resolved to stop by the casino before making the entire way down to just check and make sure that everything was alright.

After the seemingly endless subway ride terminated, I found myself darting awkwardly up the stairs, panic creeping at the backs of my heels for no reason in particular. I pulled my hood over my head and slipped into the building.

As usual, business was beginning to pick up as it was after 4 AM, the blackjack dealer taking a lengthy drag from her cigar as she dealt a hacked hand. My eyes were fixed on my lover’s twin once more, and my heart sank.

He looked particularly morose tonight, some distaste clearly tearing at his tongue with the persistence of a lie that went wrong. I glanced to his left wrist, wrapped in bandages as some kind of grossly improvised splint.

The bartender wasn’t there tonight. Perhaps this contributed to my friend’s loneliness.

My feet picked themselves up, as if possessed by a power unbeknownst to me. Did I just refer to this grim figure as my friend?

Although I would have preferred not to, I carried myself right over to the bar and took a seat to his left, as he always sat at the very right edge of the bar. Removing my hood, I bit my lip and kept my gaze on my laced fingers, as if I was expecting something.

His tired, cerulean eyes burned in my periphery. He almost looked…undeniably agitated. Every muscle in my body demanded me to abort mission, but I stayed glued to that stool as if it was my ultimate destiny, or some shit. God, maybe I’m the tenacious one.

He turned his entire upper body towards mine, pawing near my laced fingers to get my attention. His hand was scarred, blotchy from past instances of mania and what I could assume was poor blood flow.

I only turned my head slightly to respond, expecting him to sign something, in which I would tell him verbally that I didn’t understand, and then we could-…

And then I was knocked to the floor once again, same guy, same intent. I whined as lights spun through my vision, periphery darkened from the impact. Struggling, I tried to grab something for stability, but the broken man’s hands were too fast.

He gripped my shirt collar, elevating me with a blunt strength I had no idea existed. I could tell the fear in my eyes was just a bit too much for him to bear to see again, as his once strong, masculine, “yeah, I just punched you in the face, what are you going to do about it,” look faltered into one of a scared boy’s. A scared boy that just wanted to stand up for himself for once.

Wincing, he dropped me, and I continued to remain silent, any potential comebacks scared right out of me. He remained hovering, blocking out the dim lights above the bar.

Off-color tone spilled from his lips. “You ruined my life.”

He then turned on his heel and drifted off, just as quickly as the incident had occurred.

“Guess God sent me to do that, then.” Snarling, I stumbled to my feet and vaguely dusted myself off, rubbing away the blood that dripped from my mouth, soon after noting that one of my teeth was…not where it should have been.

I ran an angry hand through my hair and grumbled, removing myself from the building and just focusing on the task at hand. I was already late to Mabel’s place, I got in some kind of strange fight, and now my mouth was all fucked up, and…

Bill. I fucking forgot about Bill.

Sighing, I stumbled out of the building, lights continuing to dance in my periphery with every step. My hands quaked with shame and adrenaline, wanting nothing more to be at home once again, somewhere that I knew I could rest peacefully whenever I wanted.

In any case, I made my way down the subway again and took the second leg of the seemingly endless trip.

 

“There he is, come on in!” Mabel’s voice rang out just as chipper as ever as she opened the door, but this excitement was quickly dampened as she got a good look at my face. “Oh, Dipper…what the hell did you get yourself into?”

Hand subconsciously moving to the now swollen point of previous impact, I rolled my eyes. “Some crazy on the subway thinks assault is funny.” I put on my best New York accent to make her laugh a little bit, which she did, before letting me inside.

Before I could take two steps, I stopped dead in my tracks. “Oh my god, Bill-…Mabel, why did you drag him out here so late-…wait, what the HELL happened to your hands, oh no-…” I gave into one of my more inconvenient anxious ticks, rapid fire questioning, which was clearly making my tired boyfriend quite uncomfortable.

I took a seat next to him, turning my body to examine his state. He looked…ashamed, a look I hadn’t truly seen on him before. Whatever happened was almost too overwhelming for him to even keep his head straight.

He began to explain, refusing to meet my gaze. I heard Mabel shut the door in the background and viewed her making her way to the hotel desk, scavenging for another item.

“I got in a bad fight with my brother. He broke my wrists, or, at least, I’m pretty sure, and somehow your sister found me tied up in my room and was able to sneak me out. I don’t know how she knew-…” he began to meet my gaze, relief swelling in his face as his eyes met mine.

I gave him a gentle smile as I intruded his statement. “She just knows, trust me. And I’m exceedingly glad that she did, otherwise…” I shook my head and swallowed, noting the tang of blood in the back on my throat. Wincing, I continued. “…let’s not think about the other possibilities.”

Bill nodded in agreement, leaning his head gently against my shoulder. I assumed he had already informed Mabel about…the situation between us, so I paid little mind to the sign of affection. However, it was suspicious, as it seemed almost as if he was attempting to win me over about something. Hell, he tried to kill me during our first romantic encounter. A little sexual deviance isn’t going to make me forget about how dangerous that was.

Mabel provided me with an ice pack and began cleaning the blood from my face, which was honestly greatly appreciated. I forgot about how nice it was to have someone care for you past my previous annoyances with her.

In the almost peaceful silence, I considered why Bill would have gotten in such a violent fight with his brother, and I sure hoped it wasn’t over me. No, it couldn’t have been, even thinking about it was much too self-centered of me.

I considered that Bill wasn’t giving me the full story. I know he has a pretty bad habit of only seeing from his already very limited perspective.

Maybe that’s why Will was so angry with me.

I jumped at the thought, Bill ceasing contact with me at the sudden movement. Mabel provided me with the ice pack and almost towered over my partner and I as if we were young kids under her motherly wrath.

Almost perfectly on cue, she inquired further about my injury. “What did you say happened again?”

I stammered over my words, eyes darting to the door and my partner as I considered. With my free hand, I ran the bedspread back and forth through my fingers, trying to elaborate on my vague lie. “L-like, well…as I stated, as I mentioned, just some crazy homeless guy. Thinks assault is funny, which it’s not. I guess he just had something to be mad about…” I laughed nervously, breaking my sentence. “…you know how wild the subways can be.”

Bill spoke, startling my twin and I slightly. “Man, that’s almost as bad as the lie about the handcuffs.”

I furrowed my brow, wanting to challenge him, but realizing I had lied to Mabel that particular night as well. I was out drinking like a stupid teenager would be, and I slipped the cuffs, and…I lied to her, saying I got kidnapped. Man, I was sitting on two not so pretty lies with two very pretty people this time, huh?

I shook my head, taking a deep breath in. Mabel’s inquisitive glare challenged me as she crossed her arms.

It was almost as if my partner spoke the truth for me, which is not what you would expect out of a casino boss. “My brother did that to you. I could tell his punch from anywhere, and especially the…weird angle he knocked your tooth at.” A grin threatened to form at his lips.

“Oh, great, Mister Fucking Detective solved the case. Yeah, I went into the casino because I was fucking worried about you…” I drifted off as my partner’s glare intensified to one of absolute hostility. Any focus I had left on Mabel dissipated.

“And then you couldn’t control yourself? Couldn’t leave him be? Some…impeccable force dragged you towards the bar? Towards a man perhaps more dangerous than myself-…” His tone became harsher with every inquiry.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it like that…” I interrupted him, cowering under his now menacing figure. In the soft, not entirely functional lighting of the room, I only now noticed the bloodstains on his shirt, and I assumed Mabel hadn’t thought of them in a way other than his own injuries.

I knew they weren’t injuries. I knew blood, and that blood was too old to be his own, and much too heavy. Something was wrong.

I caught Mabel slowly backing up towards the bathroom, ostensibly to grab some kind of defense mechanism, and I wasn’t about to question her behavior.

My partner was dangerous, and this was undeniable.

There was fire in his cerulean eyes. “Why did you lie, my dear?”

“I didn’t…” The words spilled unevenly as my thoughts swirled, trying to think of something concise to say.

“Yes, you did. Why did you lie?” Bill wouldn’t let me remove my gaze.

Almost to the point of tears, I blurted out the thought at the front of my mind. “I didn’t want to make you upset!”

“Oh, but it seems you failed at this, did you not?” His voice dripped with remorse.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-…I’m really sorry…” Trauma reared its ugly head as I recalled events I’d rather soon forget.

“Too bad I didn’t end your life when I had the chance.”

My partner’s tone was cold.


	11. In the Spirit of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to dango202 on instagram who's my good friend and makes amazing art and you need to check it out :). big thanks to you for enjoying my fic so much and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
> warnings: blood/injury, mental institutions, mental illness oppression, allusion to a suicide attempt, violence, etc.

Will’s POV:  
He was really out this time.

I would say the silence was deafening, but this would be much too ironic, wouldn’t it?

I finally did it. I finally did something to hurt my brother, finally overpowered him, got the damn victory I deserved.

But god, what was it worth without my friend? What was anything worth anymore? The emptiness ate at my chest as I remained dreadfully suspended above my brother, the knowledge that I had just done something absolutely terrible beginning to creep up my throat.

My thoughts clashed in what could be considered the metaphorical version of a cacophony. “It’s not worth it,” the voices repeated, driving my body to remain still, “and it will never be.”

Another voice commanded something, anything, to move, if this was my brother or myself. It ridiculed my actions, absolutely demanding I do something for the better.

A third was wrath combined with the full knowledge that I could end his life. “He trained you. What do you think he expected? Some damn peace?”

He trained me.

Consumed by my own brain activity, I resulted to shakily retreating from the floor, staring down at my sins. God, I had really stooped to his level this time, huh? No doubt I’d ever hear the end of it if he survived. It was doubtful, however, that I’d make it to see the sun once again if he survived.

“Then let’s make it as hard as possible for him.”

Finally, all of the voices came to a joint resolution, including my own. Grabbing one of the guest chairs, I bound him to it, hardly thinking about my hands enough to realize what was going on. Before I knew it, my manic-induced delirium led to a situation much more shameful than before.

“What now, since you’re so much smarter than him. What do you do now?”

I shook my head in despair, something itching to sulk in my own misery, just alone for a bit. He wouldn’t be getting much of anywhere, anyway, not to bother me, at least.

“Alright, alright, it’s okay…” I bit my lip, extracting a cloth from the drawer and tying it around his mouth, actions growing frantic as I felt as if I was running out of time under a limit I had no idea existed.

Solidifying the last knot, I saw him stir slightly against his bounds, then promptly leaving the room. I was tempted to lock the door from inside, but decided against it, feet instantaneously rushing towards the bar.

I knew I wouldn’t find any solace there. In fact, it may have just made me more distressed, but god, where was I supposed to go? The police? What the hell would I say?

“Hello, yes, I’m completely insane and my brother killed my best friend, can I please speak to a representative?” And then they wouldn’t know what I was signing. Of course.

I took my usual seat at the bar, stomach stirring as I recalled my previous bout of drinking. It didn’t help per se, but it certainly provided…what I suppose could be considered a necessary damage. Sickening, I know, but that’s masochism for you.

Even in the house, I never felt this lonely. I always had my brother. And even when I didn’t, I knew I was with at least someone, anyone, who knew what happened. Or someone like that existed.

I thought to the madhouse, glancing down at the scars that ran through the flesh of my right forearm, something that still remained today. My roommate tried to murder me, apparently a higher power told him that this was his job on earth. To kill.

I stopped believing in God that day.

I don’t think I ever started, but the idea that a God would let someone take this path and see it as their destiny seemed purely impossible. It wasn’t anything, it was…it was only human. If there was a God, they would have control over that.

I remember being blamed for having bruises around my neck the next day as if it was my fault. I also remember having my term in the facility extended indefinitely when they found my roommate in a pool of his own blood on the hardwood floor that same day.

You know, as if this was my “fault.”

This was the only day of my life that killing someone felt right.

Bill had been in secret contact with me. It was a few days before I was set to graduate high school. A Deaf valedictorian, imagine that, and now stuck in a madhouse, rightfully so. He broke me out one day late.

I never graduated high school.

Reflecting on that occurrence, I recalled something. Bill never graduated high school either. It’s not that he’s not smart, I know better than anyone else that he’s objectively intelligent, he’s just…quite a fool sometimes. A miserable fool. I realized I was beginning to become a miserable fool as well.

In any case, I waited for an affectionate bartender who would never come, one I felt a love for that I had never understood before. I knew he had a wife, and he knew that full well too, but something told me that he wasn’t your normal gentleman.

His spirit had just been…led astray.

I was tired of fake crying to get what I wanted or holding it all back when I really just wanted to let go. Maybe I really did need some alone time.

I began to reflect on some of the spirits that visited me during my term in that awful facility. They were all so very pained, tied to their moment of passing with resent and suffering. They could see me, and knew I could see them, but we couldn’t interact on any level other than that.

 Apparently they had gotten quite a few talented mediums in that facility, which was believable, since such a thought would be so frowned on otherwise. Communication and idealization with a higher power other than God must be a sin.

Everything is a fucking sin. It pissed me off, and only certain things make me so wrathful, but ridiculous rules were certainly one of those things. Just like my mother, but naturally, I was much too scared to act on any of my thoughts.

Just like to my trigonometry teacher when I was a senior in high school, I let too much slip from my hands, and look where it got me.

Without a partner, without an ounce of my sanity, and nearly without my brother.

I just wanted some damn peace, but I guess that was just too much to ask, huh? It was decided that I would never be left at peace the day my brother and I were born.

Sulking, I strode behind the counter and poured myself a few shots of whiskey, two on the rocks and one neat, just as my brother preferred. Perhaps it was symbolic, but the taste of resent on my tongue killed any distaste I might have with the liquor.

I cried quietly, as I had learned to do, a headache starting to tear through my temples. I felt my face contort with pain, but it was almost as if I wasn’t controlling it. Shivering, I contemplated the sudden chill that swept through the room, my vision starting to blur.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but something about the whole occurrence seemed all too familiar.

The cold depression of air focused itself on my left hand, but this wasn’t unwelcome. This is where my friend had always so gently held me when I cried to him on those sleepless nights…

My vision focused as the vague sensation solidified into something discernible; in fact, it was a hand, but certainly not full of life and almost feeling…powdery.

I glanced up and was met with the handsome face of my bartending partner.

Although his body was clearly in the partially opaque, pastel blue spirit form I had seen too much of over my years, I knew what I was looking at. He smiled, but the shape of his now white eyes bore concern.

I sobbed harder, glancing around and praying that no one saw what I did. Ostensibly safe, I looked towards my friend once more.

He took both of his hands and clasped them around my very broken wrist as I finished off my first shot of whiskey. Ordinarily, I would pull away in a second, but I knew that something important was occurring. My trust was unconditional.

The man smiled, eyes crinkling as they did when I would tell a joke that quite tickled his fancy, and the familiarity comforted me instantly. I stopped crying.

Upon moving my left wrist, I noted it was stiff, but certainly not broken as it once had been. Shocked, I looked to my partner once more, who simply winked and crossed his arms, leaning against the table in a “what can I get for you,” kind of way.

“Nothing,” I thought, shaking my head. Keeping my expression steady, I indicated his presence was enough, and he took the cue to pull up his own stool across the bar and join me.

I hoped my company was enough to thank him for healing my wrist. Although it seemed strange, I finally felt at peace, sipping on my expensive alcohol with the spirit of my partner that I missed so deeply.

Of course, the engineer waltzed in. Who else?

Stomach sinking, I kept my look directly on my partner, indicating that this was a person I didn’t care for. However, he continued approaching, which frightened me to no end. What if he saw…

Clearly, he had no idea of the spirit holding my unoccupied, now fixed hand. He glanced to his hands and back to me, and I turned my upper body away from the man who deserved much more of my attention to face my enemy.

Leaving my lover’s hand, I pawed next to his laced fingers, to which I only received a slight head turn from the ungrateful bastard.

I heard for the first time since I was a small child, and it was clear. It was the bartender speaking, I knew for sure, as the baritone voice fit him so perfectly, and there was absolutely no way I would be able to hear an average human voice.

“Show him how much you hate him.”

I was purely expecting to have a normal run in with a hearing person, as I assume he expected as well, the situation already playing out in his mind.

So, I punched him right in the mouth, most certainly drawing blood. In a fit of my own wrath, I declined from the high stool and scooped him up by the shirt collar, using the hand that once had failed to quell Bill’s frustrations with me.

The fear in his eyes was unmatched to what I saw when I had murdered my roommate, or carried out one of the many assassinations Bill requested, or when I stared in the mirror at my own face as I ripped razor blades down my forearms the day after I escaped the madhouse. Good thing I have a damn resilient body, or that may have been the end of me.

No, it was fear and shame, and it was much too recognizable. I felt myself utter something to the respect of, “You ruined my life,” before letting the young man fall to the ground and storming off to be left…somewhat alone.

I hoped my bartending friend would find me once again.

I knew now that these spirits weren’t just hallucinations.


	12. A Good Night for Shame and Insult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, updates might be spotty the next couple weeks because of rehearsal going on and all. I won't turn this into another detective au though, I promise. I like this story too much, haha. hope you enjoy.  
> warnings: reflection on parental abuse, allusions to suicide and panic, drinking.

Bill’s POV:  
I left the building.

I left my lover and his twin alone to contemplate their actions.

I left to contemplate my own actions.

Perhaps…I had gone too far, and I needed to apologize to my brother, and that’s what Dipper made me realize. I still felt bad for him. No, I still loved him.

God, I was a fucking fool sometimes.

Biting back my shame, I tore out of the apartment, then taking the subway back to my own shop. For the first time in a while, fear truly gnawed at my psyche, wondering what would happen if I came back.

I wondered what Will would think when he saw me again. I wondered if he was even still awake or…had taken a turn for the worse. Assault didn’t really seem like him, unless he was on a mission or acting in self-defense.

Man, Dipper must really hate me now, if he wasn’t afraid of me before.

Swallowing my thoughts of the worst, I demanded myself to be brave as I stepped off the subway ride that ended just a bit too early for my liking. My feet were racing faster than my thoughts could catch up, muscles working at maximum potential despite the fact that it was nearly 4:30 in the morning.

I needed to stop doing this. But without this, what?

I made sure to act as casual as possible as I stepped foot in my own casino, hands splinted, and shirt still relatively doused with blood. However, the blood looked old, almost as if someone had showered me in cheap wine during a wrathful altercation.

No sight of Will sulking at the bar as he might usually. I suppose he didn’t have anyone to sulk with.

My emotions clashed with my delirium as I considered the worst. No matter how I acted before, that was my brother, and whatever God is up there knows I wouldn’t let him die.

Oh God, what had I done? Regret tore at my heart just as it had when I had seen him in that hospital bed. God, that was a sight I’d never forget.

I suppose I needed to be reminded of the detriments of my actions.

Sneaking past the customers entranced by their own machines, I rushed into the hallway that held our respective offices, the blackjack dealer giving me a subtle nod upon seeing me.

A respectable man. He definitely wasn’t on my kill list.

Shaking my head from distraction, I hurried towards Will’s office. Ignoring the pain ravaging through my wrists, I tried the doorknob. Naturally, locked.

Frustration and raw emotion that I wasn’t particularly accustomed to begun to consume my train of thought, and I pounded on the door.

“Will? Are you in there?”

At first, the question was unconfident, so I didn’t expect an answer. No answer.

“Will, look, I know you’re mad at me, but, can-…” I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. My throat became tight, an impeccable dread quickly invading any sanity that remained.

“William, please!” I shouted in a fierce panic, kicking the door to alleviate some of my extra frustrations. No answer.

“Are you in there?!”

No answer.

“I’m-…I don’t say this enough, but I’m sorry!”

No answer.

“I was fucking wrong, okay?! I WAS FUCKING WRONG!”

_No answer._

My shouts quickly stripped my vocal cords, the pain in my wrists becoming to unbearable to endure from slamming myself against a door that would never open. I wondered if he still had that pistol I gave him all those years ago and I told him to retain for safekeeping.

He wouldn’t shoot himself, would he?

“I’m sorry…” My mumble was defeated and coarse as I slid down the wooden door panels and descended to the floor, landing heavily on my hip.

No guards. No employees. No customers. No one cared.

Feeling defeated, just as I had felt when pinned down by the very brother I thought I had lost all respect for, my face grew unbearably hot. I felt tears slip down my face in neat streaks, worsening my already ravaging headache.

A footstep landed heavily in front of my crumpled, overwhelmed legs. I looked up.

Blue hair shone in the weak hallway lighting.

I watched in utter confusion as he descended next to me and took a swig from an expensive whiskey bottle.

“Got out, eh?”

I promptly wiped away my tears, bewilderment and relief consuming me. I was certainly glad that one, he was alive, and two, he wasn’t trying to murder me still. Before I could respond, questions stammered from my mouth.

“Well I-…how are you, how-…your wrist, I’m-…”

It’s quite strange having a twin at times. It’s certainly unsettling to have your own eyes staring right at you, with the same emotional ticks and the same face shape. It’s almost as if you both knew what you were going to say at the same time, as if you didn’t even need to have conversations at all.

His cerulean eyes, the same as my own, watched my lips with intent. I found it strange that he was speaking out loud so much, considering he had never overcome this insecurity before. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was me.

His speaking was sudden, apathy strangely being an unnatural look on him considering how lovely it was on myself. “Answer m’ first ques’ion.”

He was definitely wasted, I considered, wondering how his weak stomach was able to handle that much booze in the first place.

I told the truth, there wasn’t much of a reason to lie anymore. “Yeah. Someone broke me out, and then I didn’t like it there, and then I returned here. I didn’t…”

He cut me off after taking another sip. “Didn’t have anywhere else t’go?” The statement didn’t have the resent I expected.

“Yeah,” I glanced down at my splints. It was a good day to be ashamed, for sure. Ashamed and insulted.

We sat in silence. I found myself much too exhausted to remain on edge.

I caught his gaze as he cleared the contents of the bottle. He focused on me, and I spoke hesitantly.

“I thought the worst.”

It had been established between us what “the worst” was. I knew Will was much too prone to suicide, and I knew he needed help, and I knew that better than anyone else. The remorse in my eyes must have struck a nerve that pulled him out of the pure apathy that the alcohol allowed him to indulge in.

There was a comfortable silence as we stared intently at the door to my room across the hall.

My brother spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded slowly, feeling my eyes lidding. I could tell he was exhausting himself as well.

I made sure he was focused on my face before I began. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry that I…I made you mistrust me, and even more than that, I couldn’t control my impulses.”

Will bit his lip and nodded, similar to myself. I forgot to question how his wrist was healed, but with all the weird shit that had happened that night, I didn’t even want to inquire.

“Y’know, you really hurt me with what ya did,” he spoke gently, not having the repentant or offended bite some of his statements did, through his hands or his mouth. “…but after recent events, I think…I can see my way t’offering you a truce.”

Man, this was going _multitudes_ better than I expected. I nodded, trying not to act to jumpy or excited, which wasn’t hard considering our shared fatigue. “I accept. I’ll also forgive you for my own traumas…I guess I kind of deserved it.” A little bit of an accent spilled out of me unexpectedly.

I cracked a smile, and my brother returned it in the same way. I noted that he smelled quite heavily of alcohol, and I recalled our father.

We shook on our established truce, and I felt an abnormal rush run through me, as I often did when I shook hands with my twin, although this in itself was a rare occurrence.. Now, I don’t believe in the paranormal or nothing, but something about him was just…too strange.

Maybe it was a strange I could accept.

We remained seated together, both wanting nothing more than to just black out in our places. We talked causally about the past, even about things we had never brought up since they happened, and sometimes laughed, and sometimes were driven to an extended silence. As conversing goes.

“Y’know, you’re so angry sometimes. Just like dad. Except…mmm…way creepier. Almost like ya like it too much.” Will poked fun at me slightly, knowing too well that I did like the whole torture thing just a bit too much.

I was fucked up in the head in my own way, I suppose, just as he was messed up in his own way. And, for once, it was okay.

There are certainly perks and disadvantages to having a person, any person, that you’re so close with and so close to. Similarity wise, we can combine our talents to create something amazing, or we can combine our faults and cause small scale disasters, and it seems there’s rarely an in-between.

I recalled the fight we had on our 18th birthday, just before dad died. Man, we almost killed each other with that one. He, well, he aggressively signed to me that I would die just like my father was set to, and I told him that he’d be trapped his whole life just like his mother, as if we both had different parents. I was able to laugh at our idiocy now, of course, but at the time it was truly just a series of unfortunate events.

That same night, we passed out in exhaustion together on the floor next to Will’s bed.

And on this night, we passed out together once more, on the floor in front of Will’s office.

It’s strange how history repeats itself. Maybe this means we need to learn better from our past mistakes.


	13. Dry Martini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my "only two more days of band" chapter. sorry for the hiatus.  
> warnings: implied homophobia, drinking, allusions to murder

****Dipper's POV:  
Dread rested heavily on my chest as I shuffled into the appropriately deemed Casino of Confusion for my first day of work. It was summer, and I was fortunate enough to indulge in whatever I wanted.

Well, not whatever I wanted. Whatever I needed to do, and in this case, it seemed that I was quite low on money. Hell, I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning. They expect me to get up and work a damn morning job?

Luckily, Bill didn’t expect this, and we established that I would have afternoon hours. However, for god knows what reason, he put me to work in the kitchen.

Now, if you know anything about me, you know I absolutely cannot cook. It will be the death of me someday, I’m sure.

Nervously, I stumbled into the kitchen, the words Bill spat at me the other night echoing in my mind. Fury tore through me, but I wouldn’t let it get in the way of what could potentially be my best work. Hell, I was pretty damn smart, if I can figure out how to build a fan that oscillates, I can cook fancy food.

 

In a summary, I could not cook fancy food. Laugh if you care to.

Apparently, they were in need of a new bartender after the previous one mysteriously went missing. I thought to the blood stains on Bill’s shirt that night, but I doubted the two things could be remotely connected. He just went missing, that didn’t suggestively mean he was murdered.

Will seemed a bit too lonely for the idea that the bartender was just missing to be true.

Speak of the devil, he was actually the one who ended up reassigning me to the bar, of course, with a begrudging glare. Something told me he had an ounce of favoritism about him.

In any case, I found everything he did quite strange, now that I was able to see him in action. Somehow, he was able to handle extremely hot dishes with no pain. I thought to the fire scenario.

I considered that he might have some nerve damage that he uses to his advantage, but amid my pondering, I conveniently forgot that there were actual customers at the bar that I had to tend to.

Despite my normal social anxiousness, I was able to skillfully handle the intense rush of casino attendants. Orders were easy, and there was an in-depth guide to specialty drinks that I was able to use, proving quite useful.

I was always good at following directions. As my shift progressed, the customers took a liking to me, strangely, they almost found me charming.

I wondered what they knew. I hoped they knew nothing.

As the rush slowed, I became more curious about the contents of the guide. It certainly wasn’t in Bill’s handwriting, which was messier and more slanted. I took a seat after drying glasses and curiously flipped through a few pages.

A ripped note slipped out and floated to the tiles below. Curiously, I dove for it, however, I hit my head on the bar table in the process of retrieving it. Seething, I took a seat, rubbing the back of my head as I tried to focus.

“6/25: He’s looking quite strange today. His eyes don’t have the same luster. Whiskey on the rocks.”  
I furrowed my brow, setting the note down carefully and tending to the now dried glasses, carefully arranging them in the complex geometric formation I had seen before. It was almost therapeutic to complete such a task.

Returning to my seat, I looked for further notes, panicking slightly as I realized that I had no idea where the one I had extracted came from. Guiltily, I filed it to a random page and continued scouring, finding further ones from May.

“5/7: Still can’t get him to drink or eat. Concerned.”

“5/9: I find he likes the pretzels. We spoke about how I arrange the glasses. Neat lemonade.”

“5/16: Hard liquors are a little too much. Fell backwards. Neat brandy.”

“5/29: I pray his brother doesn’t find out what we did tonight. One neat vodka and one on the rocks.”

I stared at the note in pure confusion. Who wrote these? ‘His brother?’ Which twin was he referring to? Were these the bartender’s notes?

I found two from recently. Gritting my teeth, I felt as if something unnerving would come.

I was right.

“6/30: I stole his rope and pistol. I hope he’ll never find out. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing. I have a feeling I don’t realize what I’m doing, either. Two whiskeys, one straight, one neat.”

“7/1: Will, I love you.”

Shuddering, I dropped the note. Just as fear tangled around my heart, a certain someone hugged me from behind, sliding his arms around my waist and burying his face into my shoulder. The presence was warm and smelled of aftershave.

Familiar. I jumped slightly in my seat, my partner assuring me that it was only him. “I’m surprised you showed up today.”

Recalling what he had told me a few nights previous, my stomach turned, but I didn’t have the courage to pull away as I might otherwise. “You…did you mean that?”

“Oh, did I scare you?” His voice hummed sweetly as I turned to face him. Noting the customer approaching, I arose from the stool and retrieved a glass from the cabinet.

Biting back my desire to submit to his current sweetness, I remained strong. “Yes, you did. My sister is incredibly agitated with you. She doesn’t even know I’m here right now.”

I took the customer’s order, closing the drink guidebook as to not be too suspicious. Bill casually leaned against the wall next to the door that led to the back kitchen.

He responded calmly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”

I caught his surprised, even impressed stare in my periphery as I prepared the customer’s beverage. Beaming, I served it up, giving a charming yet crooked smile to the customer. She returned the favor.

“Then why did you say it?” I leaned against the wall, facing him, arms crossed just as his were.

“I…” Bill was caught off guard by the fact that his apology in and of itself would not suffice. “Look, I was just…” he realized the hostility in his tone and took a step back.

“I had a rough night. My brother and I were fighting, and he did some really scary stuff, and I use empty threats to take my anger out on something else, I guess. You didn’t deserve it.” He looked down regretfully, biting his lower lip.

I tried to keep his gaze nevertheless, nodding. “Well, I’m not going to just push it aside, but…we can work on it. I know…your expression doesn’t tell me that you actually meant what you said a few days ago.”

He smiled; glad I was accepting of his reasoning. From what I could tell, it was just as charming and genuine as ever.

He signed something to me. Not understanding, I turned my head slightly to the side, glancing momentarily for customers.

Bill kept his voice low. “It means ‘I love you.’ Keep your eye out if I do that…I don’t want my image being too wrecked in the public.”

I understood his reasoning and appreciated the gesture, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly taken aback by the “image,” part of the whole thing. What, he didn’t want to be seen with a strange, ugly, scientist boy? One of his lowly employees?

I could tell he read my considerations, striking cerulean eyes scanning my face for answers as I failed to respond verbally.

I came to the realization that being gay was still not particularly an accepted way of life.

It angered me that we had to sneak around in such a way. He grinned, and I could tell I didn’t even have to say anything for him to understand exactly what I was thinking. There was a passionate fire burning in my heart.

I hoped that one day, things would get better.

I grinned back at him, our eyes locking with a fiery, profound connection that hadn’t been previously established. Patting me on the back, he told me quietly that he had some work to get back to, but I would see him again.

I couldn’t wait for that moment. My love replenished itself just as quickly as it had been lost.

I almost forgot about the disturbing note I saw.

 

The hours of my shift progressed surprisingly quickly, but I found myself developing a strange headache. Soon, I realized that I had failed to eat most of the day.

Just on time, my love returned, quite a bit more boisterous than I had seen him previously. The night rush was coming in, but fortunately, drinks ordered to go were more common than people who came and sat at the bar. There was blackjack to be played, money to be won.

“Care for a game? I’ll take first bet.” Bill stared at my figure incredulously as I restocked some drink supplies.

“Actually, I’m not feeling it. Intuition and all.” I responded simply.

He understood, nodding. “Jeet?”

Not comprehending, I whipped around to face him. “What?”

“Oh-…” he laughed quietly to himself, taking my stool behind the bar. “Did you eat? Sorry, east coast slang.”

I pondered the word, soon adding it to my schema. “Oh, no, actually, I’ve kind of got this crazy headache…”

Displeased, he stood up from the stool and promptly left. Confused and slightly distressed, I took the seat that he left, taking deep breaths in an attempt to power through my ravaging headache.

I heard an unfamiliar voice, but one that I was too acquainted with to not know. Soon, I realized it was Bill, yelling in his thick, Italian-New York accent at the most likely frightened chefs in the kitchen.

Fortunately, the doors were mostly soundproof. This must happen a lot.

“I told you specifically to feed him, you damn _cogliones_!! Jesus Christ, can’t youse follow a damn order?!...”

Didn’t know what that word meant. Didn’t want to find out.

The blue-haired wonder stumbled towards the bar, and I anxiously bit the inside of my cheek. My tooth was still quite fucked up, a scab remaining from my broken lip as well as a light bruise. Nothing major, but enough to make me remember his lack of hospitality.

He stared intently at me, the most sober I had seen him in quite a while, perhaps since the fire incident. Will pointed to the specialty book.

My heart jumped in my throat, and it was almost as if I felt adrenaline seeping into my bloodstream. Did he know what I had seen?

He mouthed a number. “Twenty-seven.”

Nodding obediently, I opened to the requested page. Consequently, this is where I had erroneously filed the 6/25 note, which drove me quite closer to cracking. I shivered slightly.

He displayed a number with his fingers. “Three.”

I read carefully. “Dry martini, up.” Extracting a martini glass from the lower cabinet and beginning the order, he caught my eye. He was laughing quietly.

I raised an eyebrow at him as I continued my work.

He patted the back of his hands and pointed to mine, then gave me a smile. It was the first time I had really seen him smile, but I suppose I appreciated the gesture. Perhaps he was trying to tell me I was good with my hands.

I soon completed his drink, which he sipped quietly, seemingly focused on other matters. Recalling the note about the pretzels, I pulled the bowl out for him and took a seat at the bar across from him, focused on the kitchen door.

I still heard Bill vaguely barking orders at the staff. It made me smile slightly, almost as if I was…important.

I saw his twin take a pretzel in my periphery. No wrist splint today, huh?

My partner emerged from the kitchen and gave me an impeccable grin. “I have a treat for you.” He gave a small wave to his brother.

Will and I glanced at each other. For once, we were equally as confused.

It was almost peaceful.


	14. Affairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my computer is dying so i didnt edit this but enjoy  
> sorry its short  
> tw: cheating  
> -will

Will's POV:

The ghost of the bartender hadn’t come to visit me yet, which was certainly disappointing. It was if I had something to look forward to every day, these occurrences having even more of a positive prevalence in my mind.

Although I missed his gloved touch, a sweet, warm existence, and the capability of deep interaction, somehow the connection we shared, spirit to human, was even more profound.

I wondered if his wife missed him.

Sure, we were having an affair of sorts, and sure, I quite deeply regretted that. Nevertheless, I knew he wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy either. In this way…we seemed to equalize each other. It was the simplest yet most complex thing I had ever experienced in terms of an interpersonal relationship, in fact.

Quite contradictory, one might think, but my life is one of duality and contradiction, I suppose. At least I know when to take advantage of it.

When I was in high school, I never had a girlfriend, much less a boyfriend. I was always focused on my studies, sure, and didn’t have time to think about love. Only deceit.

I don’t trust people easily.

In any case, I found I was starting to…adjust to the presence of our new employee, and what I can only assume is my brother’s newest lover. Surely, he was skilled with his hands, and learned fast enough.

These are things that should be expected. Mechanical engineering is no joke.

At least he got to graduate high school.

My brother emerged from the kitchen doors soon following his and the new employee’s small chat. As the brunet waited, I noted the wound on his lip that still remained from our little…altercation.

Actually, part of me wanted to apologize. I almost got my chance when we looked at each other in bewilderment as my brother tempted the employee with the prospect of a “treat” of some kind, but the brunet promptly left my company. I didn’t care to think about it for too long.

As I consumed more of the specialty drink, my head spun with a dark familiarity. My least favorite part of this stage of alcohol consumption was definitely the feeling that your face was on fire. I prayed to god that it didn’t look like that on the outside.

Lazily, I continued chipping away at my beverage as I examined the bustling establishment. The contradiction of my slowness to the fast paced, energetic vibe of the casino was almost unnerving.

I considered my fate, and how I ended up here. It was strange, really, before I was shot, I thought I would become a radio host. I remember quite enjoying listening to any shows, even the boring news ones. The voices remain dynamic in my mind even as I consider them today, many years later.

After I became deaf, though, I honestly felt lost. I did quite enjoy the sciences in high school, especially chemistry, because you didn’t really have to listen to get that. I really wanted to become a chemist and work with radiation, because, well, I just knew there was something wrong with their studies. It didn’t add up.

Actually, my chemistry teacher praised me for the excellent research I did. Too bad that in that same year, I told my trigonometry teacher just a bit too much. Now, neither my brother nor I had the chance to graduate, and we were stuck here, living out our father’s dreary, bloodstained legacy.

I stopped giving into my resents before they made me too ill to bear.

I realized another customer joined me at the bar, thankfully respecting my space and sitting at the opposite end of myself. She wore these lovely leather gloves, and I quietly considered a personal style change.

Actually, her company was not unwelcome. I recognized she was also the type to keep to herself, as well.

It took about ten minutes for the new employee to emerge from the back, in fact, when he did, he looked quite disheveled. I could tell that he was suffering from quite a headache before, but it seemed as if this ailment was gone and replaced with…a different kind of mental obstruction.

As soon as he saw the new customer at the bar, though, he practically jumped out of his shoes.

I read the customer’s lips. “You’re terrible. A neat shot of vodka, please.”

You’re terrible? I silently repeated the statement to myself. As I focused on the two, I noted that they had an uncanny resemblance to one another.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. _Twins._

Continuing my quiet examination, I also noted that our new employee’s collar was open, his tie undone, and had one suspender off its latch. More importantly, his neck and visible chest were covered in red patches, and in one place, what looked almost to be scratch marks.

Why the hell didn’t he close his shirt before he got back to work? What was my brother planning?

Disdainfully, the woman downed the shot, leaving behind the necessary money and a note, ostensibly for her bartending brother.

I craned my neck slightly to attempt to see what was written, but the money and the note was taken before I could read anything. The bartender glanced at me, then stored the money carefully in the cash register. He seemed…unnerved.

I had finished my drink at this point, and was tempted to ask for another, but I wasn’t sure which. In my current state, I was already fairly consumed by intoxication, so much so that I might make some not so great decisions if prompted.

I was prompted.

The bartender sat at his designated stool promptly after cleaning our glasses, and I managed to get a better look at him. He kept a more extended gaze at me, and I decided to speak.

“Have a good time?”

He jumped slightly at the inquiry, and I found myself with the confidence to crack a smile. He made sure to continue to face me as he spoke.

“I assume you already know about…our situation.”

I nodded, prompting him to continue.

“Well, he kept his promise of feeding me, that’s for sure.”

I bit my lip, not particularly understanding. “Is your headache better?”

“Oh, yeah, much better.” I saw relief consume his expression. “Actually, in a way, I’m regretting the fact that my shift is almost over.” He laughed nervously, what I can only assume was a laugh, actually, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m glad.” I stated simply, averting my attention to my hands as I waited for my next statement.

He didn’t say much for a bit, then put his hand near my own to catch my attention. “Hey, uh…why are you being so nice to me?”

My eyes drifted to the wound on his lip. The one that I caused.

Now that I was closer, I saw the finger-shaped bruises around his neck, although faint at the moment.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling strangely about the whole situation. Something danced in my stomach. “Take it well.” I shrugged.

He nodded, moving his stool closer to be positioned across from me.

We talked quietly for a bit, and I smelled sweetness on him, as well as a mint he used in a poor attempt to cover it up. Something, though, was just irreplaceably loveable about his eyes…

The casino around us slowed, bustling winding down to nothing more than faint, white noise. My periphery blurred as I focused on what could be approached as the task at hand, but I much rather not approach it that way.

Before I knew it, I was kissing my brother’s boyfriend.

The same man I had punched straight in the face just a few days before.

And through the whole occurrence, I couldn’t help but feel as if there were prying eyes that belonged to a source all too familiar.


	15. You're Killin' Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up guys im back from the dead. i'll probably just write a couple chapters and go for there, but I hope you enjoy these new ones! sorry for being away for so long. i did miss writing a lot. -will

Bill’s POV:

“Oh, isn’t this interesting…” I mumbled to myself, peering through the kitchen door window at what was ostensibly my newest battle.

For a jealous man, I lacked any jealousy. More intrigue, a competitiveness that bolstered my desires in this apparent fight for the engineering major. Although it pained me slightly, I left the two alone, and tended to other business.

After a few minutes, Dipper checked by my office to clock out. Upon entering, he stammered strangely, seeing the bed, naturally, and the rope tied to the frame. I saw him try to ignore it, but the attempt was futile.

I removed my legs from being kicked up on the desk and looked to him, signing off on my own notes that he’d finished his shift. The entire interaction was…uncomfortably wordless, until I broke this condition.

“Did you have fun?” I phrased it in a way such that he would not be able to escape the question.

“U-uh…” The brunet seemed lost, almost dazed. “Yeah. Good first day.” He pursed his lips and looked away, thinking deeper about something. “And uh…my break time was nice.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Bad time to mention that, at least, for his guilty psyche. I gave him a charming grin, rubbing his hand gently. “I’m glad you enjoyed that little…gift, I provided for you.” Apparently, my expression turned, because the other pulled away slightly.

“I see you received gifts from someone else as well.” I kept my voice to a gentle hum.

“W-wh-…I-…I can explain! He didn’t-…I wasn’t…” Dipper rushed to his own salvation, but once more, it was worth practically nothing.

“No, I know, I suppose we can get a little jealous sometimes.” I referred to my brother and I, rising from my desk. Gently, I took the other’s jaw in my palm, examining my previous work on his throat. “Mm. Perhaps I have to teach you a lesson.”

“A l-lesson?” The stammer was priceless, exceedingly nervous. “No, maybe, maybe another time, but if I don’t get back soon my sister-…”

“Hah!” I laughed aloud. My possessiveness must have been a bit frightening, but I didn’t care to lower it. Moving our…now unit of sorts over, I shut the door with my foot, then laced my fingers with his, pinning him to the wall.

“B-boss, please…” The brunet begged, looking away in what almost seemed to be shame.

“Ooh, ‘boss,’ huh? Glad you jumped on that bandwagon.” I stated emphatically. “I’m not angry with you, no, more so intrigued. Maybe a little disappointed. I’d thought you’d be more loyal.” My conclusion was almost dismissive. I wanted to scare him, because god, fear was a damn good look on him.

“I-I told you, I can explain! He was d-drunk, and I-…well, I-I-I…couldn’t really pull away, I just-…” Seems the shy brunet had a selective stutter.

“Couldn’t pull away, huh?” I heard my own accent thicken. Soon, I had both of his wrists pinned to the wall, our faces uncomfortably close. It felt like I was staring through his soul. “Do you want me to show you what it’s like to not be able to pull away?” I tensed my hips, gently riding over his own.

The other shuddered, first clenching his hands and struggling, but giving up quicker than I expected. “N-no. I understand. Poor word choice.” He looked anywhere else but me. I didn’t like that.

I used my free hand to turn his jaw up to my eyes, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You’ll look at me when I’m speaking to you.” My eyes narrowed, head slightly turning.

“Y-y…” Before he could even fully answer, I pulled him in for a kiss, one that he did not protest, fortunately. Once again, quite the blusher; I wondered how long it would take for him to come off this high.

As I pulled back, he whined slightly, almost desperate for more. I felt his wrists struggle under my grasp again.

“Oh my, didn’t you say you had to get to your sister? Or was that just because you were scared?” My voice was clearly more amused than he was comfortable with.

“No, no, I do…” Dipper’s tone became more serious, almost as a tactic to meet my assertiveness, I assumed. “Some things can wait, though. I suppose I didn’t understand which route you were taking this.”

“Oh?” I inquired. The mischievous look that developed on his face was…delightful. I didn’t notice that through this conversation, I had forgotten what I was doing with his hands, and now they were free.

Without another word, the brunet practically pushed me to the other side of the room and onto the bed, eyeing up the rope intently. With his free hand he began unbuttoning my shirt, the other being reserved to caressing my face as he littered it with kisses.

I was taken aback, to say the least, at the sudden display of dominance from the young man, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Sometimes it was nice to let someone else take the lead, well…unless they were going to kill you.

Wait.

Did he know…who I really am? A mafia boss? Did this kid even know who he was _dealing with?_ If stuff got bad, I didn’t know if there was turning back for the boy. Or me, for that matter, in the debate of if I survived or not.

He must have seen the fear in my eyes, to which he only increased his intensity. No, this is not what I expected from this relationship, definitely not. He pinned my hips down with his own, quickly unbinding the rope from the bed frame and snapping it in front of me.

“Ooh, what’s wrong? Is someone a little scared? I’m sorry.” The brunet’s voice was gentle, almost like an affectionate parent of a toddler. It was clear our…dominating strategies, for lack of a better term, differed.

“I-I can’t…” I couldn’t get the words out. Think, you idiot! I shouted at myself internally, trying to articulate it in a way that wouldn’t give anything away, but…god, I didn’t know what to do. It was extremely enjoyable sure, but if that rope got anywhere near my neck…

And of course, it did. I had to grab his shirt and beg him to stop, which at least he listened to, drawing back. “What? Are you okay?” He sounded concerned.

“Y-yeah, well I mean, no…” My eyes darted around. How could I explain this?

“I just…I just don’t trust you enough. Yet. Maybe after a little bit longer, a couple weeks, uh…” My words drifted from me as I saw his expression morph into one of disbelief.

“B-but…you...” Dipper tossed the rope to the side, sitting up. Now less disbelief, more anger. Anger was bad. We had just gotten through a different fight, and now…

“But you, that day in my dorm…and just earlier you were all over me…I’m just…” His tone started to get hostile, eyes glinting. “I don’t know what all these signals mean. If you can’t trust me, why should I trust you? Fuck! I let you cover me in all-…all this…” He looked at the floor in disbelief, then rose from the bed.

I sat up quickly, reaching out my hand. “No, please no, I don’t mean it like that-…”

“Then what else could you have _meant?_ ” His eyes were wide, a mix of repudiation and irritation distinct.

“No, you don’t understand. Something very dangerous is at stake, and I just want to protect you fr-…” I hurried, trying to explain as best I could without revealing anything.

He interjected. “Protect me? PROTECT ME?” Dipper ran an angry hand through his hair, gathering the couple things he had left behind. “No, fuck this. I shoulda known from the start that this was going to go nowhere or end in tragedy of some…some fucking kind.” He clenched his jaw and opened the door, narrowing his eyes back at me.

“It seems that you two just attract it.” The comment slammed into me, and the brunet slammed the door.

I sat in my bed, quiet for a minute. Damn, I really fucked this one up. I had to tell him. There was no other way.

It was peculiar, I would ordinarily feel anger in this situation, but this time it was more blatant shame and frustration. Dammit, he was right. I didn’t like being wrong, but if we don’t have trust…it felt as if we had nothing. What, was I so fucking entitled that I had to keep my status over a little fun? He would never do that to me, right..?

I felt myself becoming intensely paranoid, which I hadn’t really felt since I, well, I failed to graduate high school. After my father and that dreaded scientist left my life, things were…better. But now…

I furrowed my brow in thought. What was his last name again? There was no way they could be related. Too much of an age gap. I shook my head, getting up and adjusting myself slightly in a hopeless attempt to not look so…frazzled.

Well, if he didn’t come back, he would have no source of income, so I was bound to see him. Otherwise, I would have to come to him…myself.

I felt like I needed defense. A chill ran down my spine.

“No, no! You’re being an idiot.” I clenched my jaw, mumbling to myself. Promptly, I realized I should probably tend to other things.

As soon as I stepped out of my office, the blackjack dealer lured me in. His eyes were narrowed…wait, his? Before he could say much, I inquired. “I thought Rose’s shift was tonight?”

The dark-haired man shook his head. “Not tonight,” he responded. “Something came up with her. But more importantly, I saw something strange…”

Bill shook his head. “Yes, I know what was going on between the new hire and my brother.” I waved my hand dismissively.

The dealer looked to me in disbelief. “What? No, no, nothing about that.” He cupped his hand and whispered in my ear. “The cops are _all over_ Samuel’s death. His wife made a huge riot about it. If I were wise, I’d leave for a vacation right about now, that way they can’t get to you. Take Will, too. He needs some time away, and I know he’s no good with, you know, authority.”

The fucking bartender, coming back to haunt me again. I pursed my lips slightly and lowered my brow. “Alright. I’ll do what I see fit.” I remained cold. Before turning away and progressing ahead on my mission to find my brother, I noted that Rose looked oddly like Robert, the male blackjack dealer. Suspiciously so, perhaps. I hadn’t noted it before.

Another thing for me to think about.

I entered the kitchen, looking for any signs of Will. I sensed something weird, though, as if I could feel the other’s distress.

Something peculiar drew me to the storage cabinet. Upon opening it, I find my brother, a curled up, crying mess.

Oh, for fucks sake.

**Author's Note:**

> I like comments :) I'm always happy to hear that someone likes my works!


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